


A persistent firefly

by nika_writes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, First touches, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23953138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nika_writes/pseuds/nika_writes
Summary: After Kiyoomi and Atsumu share an unusual experience, something about their relationship changes. Kiyoomi can't seem to shake off the persistent feeling that is slowly but surely drawing him closer to his unbeloved teammate.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 58
Kudos: 620





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not a native speaker, please ignore any errors!
> 
> This being the first story I ever wrote, I am thrilled to share it with you!
> 
> I make illustrations for every new chapter, if you want to check them out and be updated on new chapters, please visit my [twitter](https://twitter.com/empty_akuma) or [instagram](https://instagram.com/empty_akuma)

Sakusa Kiyoomi loves his routine. Ever since the day he signed the contract with the Black Jackals and moved into the small two room apartment, his morning routine follows the same steps. His alarm goes off at 5:30 and he gets up to make a cup of tea and a bowl of rice. Then, while eating he reads the latest news of the V.League in the Volleyball Monthly magazine. Afterwards, he puts on clean bedsheets and starts the washing machine. While the laundry is lazily spinning inside, he dedicates the next 45 minutes to his personal hygiene which contains several different steps and products.

After all surfaces of the bathroom have been wiped down with sanitizing cleaning agent, the laundry spread on a drying rack and his rice bowl is neatly stored in the cupboard, Kiyoomi gets dressed. He pulls the zipper of his jacket right up to his chin, presses a face mask on his nose and slips a pair of thin gloves over his lean hands. It’s around 7 o’clock when he opens the door to exit his apartment. He walks the short distance to practice by foot every day, solely because he enjoys the peaceful streets in the early hours. Okay, maybe also because it’s quicker than taking the bus a few crossroads down the opposite direction. Anyway, he _enjoyed_ the peace. Until today at least.

Kiyoomi reaches the second landing on the stairs as the door to his right swings open and slams against the wall behind it.

“Omi-Omi! Now _that’s_ a surprise!”

He stops abruptly and tries to defy the reflex to turn on his heels and run away immediately. After short consideration, he continues to climb down the stairs, a silent sigh escaping his lips. He carefully avoids eye contact with the young man that appeared so suddenly in front of him. If he thoroughly ignores the blonde with the wide smirk on his face he’ll most certainly disappear again, Kiyoomi wants to believe. What for the love of god did he do that out of all people Miya Atsumu had to pop up in the building he lives in?

“Hey, don’t act like I’m not existing! Wait for me!”, Atsumu calls out, stumbling down the stairs after Kiyoomi.

“Stay away from me.”, Kiyoomi spits through gritted teeth.

Meanwhile, Atsumu caught up to him, strolling beside Kiyoomi with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Is that how you usually greet a new neighbor?”, Atsumu whines, one hand dramatically clenched to his chest. As an answer he merely reaps a sharp glare and a stifled snort from Kiyoomi. _I guess that’s it with my beloved morning peace_ , Kiyoomi thinks gloomily.

He knew that Atsumu was looking for a new place, he heard him talk about it with Bokuto and Hinata during practice. But why did he have to choose an apartment _that close_ to Kiyoomi’s?

He would suppose that he and Atsumu get along just fine on court. Well, at least when it comes down to playing volleyball. But, even during official matches, they couldn’t bite back on snappy comments or childish things like competing over who serves the first ace. Offside the court Kiyoomi tries to keep his distance to this pompous ass of a setter. Until now, that worked out quite well for both of them and Atsumu seemingly respected Kiyoomi’s preferred avoidance. He wonders what made Atsumu change his mind, so that he suddenly takes more joy than usual in constantly irritating Kiyoomi.

*

He met Atsumu for the first time during his time in high school, but aside from the all-youth Training Camp in his second year and several games between Itachiyama and Inarizaki during the tournaments, they never really met in person. Of course, Kiyoomi was well informed about his skills as a setter, being informed about opposing players has always been part of his rigorous game preparation. But Kiyoomi didn’t need to get to know him better to be certain that he couldn’t stand Atsumu. From afar, he could see that he was a self centered attention-loving narcissist. No characteristics Kiyoomi found desirable and definitely not a person he wanted to get involved with.

His impression of Atsumu from back then hasn’t changed since they have become teammates. After every match, Atsumu surrounds himself with a bunch of admirers and virtually bathes in the validation he receives from these total strangers. And at the rare evenings after a victorious match that Kiyoomi spends with the team at the izakaya, Atsumu often likes to have one girl in each of his arms, sucking up every compliment like it’s the air he needs to breathe. However, none of these people ever seem to mean anything to him personally and so it isn’t unusual for Atsumu’s evenings to end with a slap across his face or a spilled drink on his pants after he once more carelessly insults his female entourage. Atsumu only thirsts for the attention itself and he doesn’t really care about the way he receives it.

Kiyoomi himself tries his best to avoid any contact with fans, aside from the autograph sessions that he is regularly forced to attend. He thinks that social interaction is tiring and stressful and the risk of someone sneezing at him out of the blue is way too high. He usually watches the hype around Atsumu with a generous safe distance, like observing a grotesque natural spectacle with a mixed feeling of fascination and abomination. When he thinks about it, he’s sure that there is no person on this planet that grinds his gears more than Miya Atsumu.

*

His efforts at ignoring Atsumu on their way to the gym last about two weeks. However, Atsumu doesn’t seem to be bothered by the dismissive silence that Kiyoomi emanates and babbles unswervingly about the irrelevances of his life. _Omi-kun, you’d be more popular if your face wouldn’t always look like someone just died. That incompetent hag cut my hair two Millimeters too short, I can’t show myself to the publicity looking like that! The company just quit selling my favorite flavor, my life is practically ruined!_

And because Kiyoomi believes that he’ll either suffer from an aneurysm or has to commit a murder if he’s exposed to Atsumu’s nonsense any longer, he decides to alter his strategy.

Usually, Kiyoomi is the last to leave the showers after practice, because he likes to take his time under the searing hot water so he eventually exits the locker room together with most of his teammates. Now, he plans to leave before the others are ready to go, he’ll make up for the abbreviated shower with a second one at home.  
And so this evening he charges out of the door as soon as the coach ends the practice.

*

Kiyoomi is pulling his sweatshirt over his slightly damp curls as Atsumu, Hinata and Meian open the door to the locker room.

“Hey Omi-kun, yer not running away from me, are ya?”, Atsumu asks with a taunting smile.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Miya. As if you ever had any influence on my life.”, Kiyoomi bites back.

Atsumu pretends to be hit by a bullet and slumps down on the bench in the middle of the room. Hinata bursts into laughter while watching his pathetic performance, fishing for his phone to capture the moment. Kiyoomi turns away and reaches for the door with a gloved hand as the very same door swings open before he can touch it. Inunaki sticks his head through the opening. “Atsumu-kun, the coach wants to talk to you.”

Seems like he has fortune on his side, Kiyoomi thinks, as he slips through the door past the libero.

Kiyoomi uses his newly found freedom from Atsumu to drop by the convenience store on his way home. The small shop lies about half way between the gym and his house and he urgently needs new disinfectant wipes. He only has five packages at home and he likes to have an adequate supply of such vitally important utensils. He roams the aisles and studies the colorful labels of the various cleaning supplies. An antibacterial sanitary laundry detergent especially catches his eye. He decides to take a bottle of it with him, lately he had the feeling that his volleyball jersey wasn’t perfectly clean after washing. He grabs another bottle of it – just to be sure – and walks up to the checkout. After everything is neatly wrapped in two layers of plastic shopping bags, he steps out on the street.

*

The sun has disappeared behind the horizon, wrapping the city in a faint twilight when he turns into the road of his apartment complex. Apparently, he lost track of the time while shopping, Kiyoomi thinks, displeased with his own sloppiness. He fixes his gaze on the badly lit street in front of him when he notices a group of men sitting on one of the benches under a large chestnut tree. Kiyoomi subconsciously slows his walking pace to get a closer look on the situation. Even though he doesn’t recognize the words, the voices echo loudly in the empty street, mixed with the tinny rattle of empty beer cans.

He firms the grip on his shopping bag, squares his shoulders and, taking long strides, heads for the outer edge of the sidewalk. He wants to get as much space between him and the men as possible. Not, because he is afraid of them, his impressive physical size is usually enough to deter unpleasant nightly encounters. But rather, because he thinks that drunkards in general are disgusting and he rather steers clear of any direct confrontations with them.

Kiyoomi is only a few steps away when the four men take notice in him. Their loud conversation falls silent and Kiyoomi sees in the corners of his eyes how the man on the right nudges the shoulder of his neighbor, an average looking guy wearing a baseball cap.

“Hey, beanpole, wassup?”, the guy shouts and slips off the bench, slightly swaying. The other men laugh loudly, but remain seated on the back of the bench. Kiyoomi decides that it’s better not to respond and keeps walking without reacting to the rude comment. As soon as he passes them they’ll certainly lose interest in him.

Faster than Kiyoomi presumed the guy with the cap thwarts his way with a few quick steps.

“This one’s pretty unfriendly, isn’t he, guys?”

Kiyoomi again hears roaring laughter from the men that are intently watching the scene.

The one in front of Kiyoomi looks quite shabby and the smell of stale beer and cold cigarette smoke rise to his nose. He involuntarily grimaces in disgust. The guy doesn’t miss the twitch around Kiyoomis eyes and steps closer. Out of reflex Kiyoomi simultaneously takes a step back and immediately curses himself for it. His subconscious reaction aroused the interest of the opposite even more. A crooked smile splits the face of the drunk.

“Let’s take that thing off ‘f ya face.”

With these words his arm darts forward, trying to get a grip on Kiyoomi’s face mask. Out of reflex, Kiyoomi shoves him away with a hefty push of his forearm, making the guy stumble backwards. He gasps as a sharp jolt shoots through the vertebrae of his neck when the guy rips the mask down with him.

Before he realizes what just happened, Kiyoomi feels several hands gripping him. He tries to break away, but the hands around his biceps and wrists and the pair of arms that wraps around his chest are holding him tightly in place. A wet breath brushes the short hairs of his neck and a hoarse laugh sounds close to his left ear. Kiyoomi feels a vague panic rising in his chest. The ringing in Kiyoomi’s ears drowns out the words of the man with the torn mask in his fist, who is struggling to get back on his feet, his face distorted with rage.

*

The next thing Kiyoomi can remember is a throbbing pain in his face and a metallic taste in his mouth. He is lying huddled on the wet asphalt, his head protectively buried under his arms. He can’t remember when the hands that were holding him let go, but as the high whistling in his ears eventually dies away, he can hear a voice and footsteps drawing closer.

“Shit, those fucking assholes! Hey, buddy, ya alright?” Something gently touches Kiyoomi’s shoulder and the hand in front of his face is being pulled away. Someone sharply breathes in.

“F-fuck! _Sakusa?!_ Shit, Omi-kun, can you hear me?”

Kiyoomi carefully opens one eye and even this tiny movement sends a sharp pain through the right half of his face. His view is blurry, but after blinking twice he recognizes the ashen face that is staring down at him.

Atsumu’s eyes are wide open, his lips bloodless and pressed into a thin line. He looks almost ghastly in the dim light. The adrenaline in Kiyoomi’s veins slowly ebbs away and suddenly he is painfully aware of his own body. He groans as multiple regions demand his attention with throbbing pain.

If possible, Atsumu turns even paler.

“Where are you hurt? Can you stand up? Should I call the police? Or an ambulance? Dammit, I’ll kill these bastards!”

“Hang on, Miya, you're talking too much.” Kiyoomi puffs out a strained laugh, but it sounds ragged and more like a wince, so his attempt on being casual fails miserably.

A deep crease forms between Atsumu’s thick eyebrows as he furiously glares at Kiyoomi.

“That’s not the right time for trying to be funny for the first time in yer life, asshole.”

Atsumu grabs Kiyoomi’s arms and lets out a groan as he pulls him carefully up.

“I’ll take ya home, can you walk on your own?”, he asks with a doubtful frown. He keeps his hands extended in case Kiyoomi falls again.

Determined to save the remains of his dignity, he places a foot forward. Kiyoomi didn’t even walk two steps when his knees give in. Atsumu curses colorfully as he pulls Kiyoomi’s arm over his shoulders and places his own around his waist to support him.

*

After what felt like an eternity and several breaks on the stairs, they finally make it to the floor of Kiyoomi’s apartment. Kiyoomi pulls his keys out of the pocket of his sweatpants and hands them to Atsumu, who unlocks the door without letting go of Kiyoomi. He already wants to pull him further into the apartment, but Kiyoomi fiddles with his shoes, trying to get them off his feet. The current situation is no excuse for messing up his spotless floor. Atsumu groans impatiently, but kicks his own sneakers away, before he drags Kiyoomi across the living room to the couch. The dark leather protests loudly when first Kiyoomi and then Atsumu fall onto the thick cushions. They remain like this for a while, heavily breathing, too exhausted to say anything.

As his body slowly relaxes, the events of the night gradually seep into Kiyoomi’s consciousness. Strangers attacked him without any reason and they have hurt him. He can still feel their hands on his body and the dirty ground on his skin. A wild mixture of different emotions flood Kiyoomi’s mind. Shock, because he was harmed by strangers, disgust, because of the dirt and shame, because Atsumu has seen him in such a wretched state. The overwhelming intensity of the impressions makes him shiver uncontrollably.

In the meantime, Atsumu, unaware of the turmoil in Kiyoomi’s head, rediscovered his ability to talk bullshit.

“Damn, if I’ve known that ya just needed a proper beating to let me into yer apartment, I would’ve done it myself weeks ago.”

He almost chokes on his laughter when he turns his head to look at Kiyoomi whose whole body is shaking. He really does have a talent for being the biggest asshole in most inappropriate situations.

“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I-..” He reaches out, but pulls his hand away before he can touch Kiyoomi. He swallows thickly.

“What can I do? Tell me.”, Atsumu says in a low voice.

This time genuine concern appears on his face. Kiyoomi realizes that he has never seen this kind of expression on Atsumu. He usually looks carefree with a permanent smirk pulling on his lips. _Interesting, after all he does have more emotional depth than a shallow puddle of rainwater._ Kiyoomi snaps out of his thoughts.

“Miya, watch out, one could think that you are actually human. Stop staring and help me to get in the shower.”

Atsumu gapes perplexed, but reaches out to him with a deep bow. “As you wish, Omi-sama.”

Kiyoomi grimaces when he hears the name and fights the urge to smack him in the head, but eventually let’s Atsumu pull him to his feet.

*

Atsumu drops Kiyoomi carefully on the edge of the bathtub and inspects him from head to toes with a pensive expression.

“What is it, do you also want to watch how I take a bath?”, Kiyoomi snaps.

“Hmm, if you already spit out snarky comments like that, it can’t be that bad.”, Atsumu says with a more cheerful smile.

“Come to the kitchen when you’re done, I’ll fix ya up.”

Kiyoomi stares confused at him. Atsumu rolls his eyes and points silently at the large mirror above the sink. Kiyoomi cranes his neck to take a look at himself and flinches when his face appears in the reflecting surface. The skin above his prominent right cheekbone is dark purple and a deep cut slices trough his lower lip. By the sight of his own blood, that is covering large parts of his face and the front of his shirt, he has to fight down an upcoming nausea.

“Can you handle this by yourself or do ya need some help with the soap?”, Atsumu teases with one foot already outside the bathroom door. He laughes at the scowl Kiyoomi shoots at him and closes the door behind him.

Kiyoomi strips himself of the clammy clothes and suddenly can’t wait to step under the boiling hot water of the shower. Just like the half dried blood, that disappears in the drain, the water washes away the majority of the unease, that was clinging to his shoulders. He feels the tense strands of muscles in his neck easing under the tingling heat. The soap stings in the small scratches on his face and the bigger one on his lip, but Kiyoomi doesn’t mind.

When the water gradually becomes cooler, he turns off the shower, finally feeling a little more like himself again. He can’t feel the hands on his skin anymore, only the slight burn after scrubbing every inch of his body for several minutes. Kiyoomi pulls the shower curtain to the side and pauses in the middle of stepping out of the shower when his eyes catch a neatly folded stack of clothes beside the sink. He didn’t notice Atsumu coming in after he turned on the water. Kiyoomi briefly considers ignoring the clothes just to bug Atsumu, but eventually puts on the not matching shirt and sweatpants, realizing it’s not worth the effort. It doesn’t matter if he feeds Atsumu’s ego, he’d be insufferable for the next few weeks no matter what he does now. He opens the cabinet under the sink and pulls out a small first aid kit before leaving the bathroom.

He halts just outside the yellow glint of the light bulb that hangs directly above his small dining table. Atsumu sits on one of the two wooden chairs. His head rests on his arms and his shoulders gently move from the deep sleepy breaths he’s taking. Kiyoomi slams the box on the table. Atsumu jumps by the sound of it and blinks in the direction where he suspects Kiyoomi’s face. He rubs his eyes and unsuccessfully stifles a yawn.

“I thought you’d drowned yourself in that shower.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”, Kiyoomi responds flatly while sitting down on the other chair.

He silently pushes the white box in Atsumu’s direction. At once he is wide awake and eagerly opens it. For a minute or two he rummages around the contents of the box and eventually pulls out a small bottle of iodine, latex gloves, cotton swaps and a few plasters. He pulls the gloves over his hands, soaks a swap with the brown liquid and leans forward to carefully dab it on Kiyoomi’s maltreated face.

“I would’ve never guessed that you'd ever let me do this.”, he murmurs.

“One more word and you’ll regret it.”

His warning only elicits a soft laughter. _Yeah, why do I let him do this?_ It has to be the shock, he’s still not fully accountable. No one in his right mind would let Atsumu perform medical treatments of any kind.

The white box shuts with a soft click and the sting of the iodine in his wounds fades away. Only the buzzing of the fridge breaks the awkward silence. Kiyoomi absent minded kneads his hands, his eyes locked on an irregular knothole in the wood of the tabletop. Normally his words never fail him, even when most of the time he decides to rather keep them to himself. Before he can force himself to say something, Atsumu clears his throat and pushes his chair back. 

“I guess, I should go.”

Kiyoomi nods without looking up from the table. Fatigue, mental and physical, breaks over him and so he doesn’t even notice the sound of the front door clicking shut. He drags himself with wobbly legs to his bedroom and collapses on the bed, immediately falling into a deep dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR READING THIS FAR!
> 
> aaaarhg, I don't know what so say, but it was a whole lot of work writing this first chapter without any experience and I hope you enjoyed it :)
> 
> Please leave some kudos or a comment if you liked it and if you want to know how the story goes on :3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a small messy illustration for this chapter as well, check my Instagram!

Unsurprisingly, there aren’t any major consequences, just like Kiyoomi anticipated. The coach makes him file a report, but of course the police couldn’t do anything about it since, apart from Atsumu, there were no other witnesses or leads to the identities of the offenders.

Luckily, he still could go to practice. The team doctor examined him, but besides the obvious ones on his face, he had no serious injuries. And even though Kiyoomi is slightly disgruntled when he learns that he has to stay at home for the friendly match they have planned for the upcoming weekend, he is also relieved that he doesn’t have to deal with the press. Without a doubt, the reporters would be right up his ass as soon as they saw the huge colorful bruise blooming on his cheek. Yeah, he’d rather pass on that experience.

*

His daily routine hasn’t changed since the day he was aggressed, except that he added a hat to his outfit to hide the part of the bruise that isn’t already covered by his mask. Kiyoomi isn’t really fond of the plain black cap, because his hair is a total mess as soon as he takes it off, but it serves the purpose.

The first time after the incident that he left his apartment, he wondered if it would make a difference to him to pass by the spot where it happened. But since taking a longer route to the bus stop would be an absolutely ridiculous waste of time and energy, he doesn’t even consider it. It’s not like he’s walking there alone anyway.

*

Unfortunately, another one of his predictions turned out to be correct and so he was pestered by Atsumu on several occasions about what happened back then, preferably when the whole team was around. Every time he tells the story, it gets more and more absurd, by now he tells everyone that wants to hear it (and apparently also everyone who _doesn’t_ want to hear it) how he fought ten tall guys with his bare hands to save Kiyoomi and he insists that afterward, he carried him on his back all the way up to Kiyoomi’s apartment. Also, somehow Kiyoomi is always crying in his story, even though thankfully nobody believes that particular detail.

*

After an exceptionally exhausting practice, Kiyoomi opens his locker, a towel hanging loosely around his neck and water still dripping from the ink-black flow of his wavy bangs. He doesn’t really keep anything in there, but he once attached a small mirror to the inside of the door that he now uses to inspect his face. The area above his right cheekbone is nearly the same milky white as the rest of his skin, with the bruise almost completely faded. His eyes travel down to his lips, where from the cut that had split the lower one in half, is only a thin red line left. Not long and the last traces of that night will be gone and forgotten. Pleased, that the healing process is going well, he closes the locker with a gentle nudge of his elbow.

He bends down to reach for his shoes when he sees that the spot beside them is abandoned. Kiyoomi frowns, did Atsumu already leave? Instead of relief, he somehow feels a minor irritation by the thought of walking home alone. In the past few weeks, he has been getting used to being accompanied by this insufferable idiot and Kiyoomi hates it when something suddenly changes that he’s gotten used to. But since he won’t admit any of that, he turns to Hinata, who sits across one of the room’s low benches.

“Did the blonde pest already go home?”, he asks in his most disinterested tone.

Hinata stops tapping violently at his phone screen and snickers. “Nah, I don’t think he’d let you walk alone.”, he tells him with a beaming smile. Instead of voicing his confusion, Kiyoomi just furrows his brows.

“Didn’t you notice how hyperaware Atsumu-san recently is of you? I always catch him staring at you during practice.”

Kiyoomi didn’t expect that, but neither does he believe it. He would have noticed, and he knows that Hinata tends to have a too vivid imagination.

The gym door closes behind Kiyoomi and he pulls his jacket tighter around his slender frame. It’s particularly chilly this evening, no trace left of the mild late summer nights they still sometimes had a couple of weeks ago. He walks down the few steps in front of the building and finds again something unexpected at the bottom of them. Atsumu is leaning against the handrails, idly tapping at the lit screen of his phone. Weird, was he waiting for him out here?

*

For the first minutes on their walk along the almost empty streets, everything seems normal. Atsumu is his usual obnoxious self with Kiyoomi’s patience wearing thin, but then, after a while, he falls strangely quiet. He even stays silent when they enter the building and climb the stairs up to their apartments. All of a sudden, he stops on the steps, shortly before they reach Atsumu’s floor. Kiyoomi almost bumps into him, because he stopped so abruptly. From his position, Kiyoomi can’t see his face, but Atsumu’s body language tells him that something is off. He hunches his shoulders, left foot kicking against the step in front of him. Kiyoomi hears him clearing his throat.

“Uhm… Do you still think about it?”

This is the third time this evening Kiyoomi is surprised by something unexpected. Atsumu doesn’t specify what he’s talking about, but there’s no need to. Kiyoomi takes a moment to think about the question.

“No, not really. Not as much as I thought I’d be.”

Atsumu nods slowly, still not facing him.

“You know, I still think about it a lot. I’ve never seen a friend getting hurt like that.”

And before Kiyoomi even has the chance to open his mouth, Atsumu tells him good night and heads down the corridor to his apartment. Kiyoomi stares after him until he hears the sound of a door closing in the distance.

*

Hours later, he still can’t get Atsumu’s words out of his mind. He finally gives up reading the page of his book for the seventh time and drops it with a sigh on his nightstand. Something about his choice of words bugs him, but he can’t tell what exactly bothers him. He reaches for the switch to turn off the light when his eyes get stuck on the bold letters of the book title. _Friend_ says one of them. That’s it, he called Kiyoomi his friend! Maybe he was making fun of him? No, he couldn’t see his face so he can’t tell for sure, but by the sound of his voice, Atsumu was serious. That wasn’t one of his attempts to mock Kiyoomi. But why did he call him that, he can’t recall becoming friends with Miya Atsumu. In fact, their relationship hasn’t changed at all, if he thinks about it. Kiyoomi makes fun of Atsumu when he misses a serve, Atsumu is trying to kill his last nerve, so far nothing extraordinary. Sure, they walk together to practice and back home, but that’s solely based on the fact that they happen to live in the same building.

Kiyoomi calls very few people his friends and to him that expression means deep trust and respect, not quite something he’d associate with Atsumu. And given his weird personality, he probably even calls the team’s bus driver his friend. He shouldn’t read too much meaning into it. Atsumu considering him a friend won’t change anything after all.

*

The Black Jackals are once more at the izakaya, this time with Kiyoomi in tow. He couldn’t talk his way out of it since it happens to be Meian’s birthday and he can’t decline an invitation from his team’s captain. It also helped that he pointed out that it’ll be a private party with only the members of the team, unlike their victory celebrations where always numerous other people tag along.

When they arrive at the bar, they are led to a separated area in the back with a large table in the center, several thick seat cushions arranged around its perimeter. One experienced glance is enough for Kiyoomi to spot the best seat in the corner and immediately claim it for himself before one of the others could move one finger. He looks up when someone flops down on the cushion next to him, greeted by Hinata’s beaming face. He can’t restrain a small smile forming on his lips, thinking that the evening has the potential to become not that annoying.

They are already a few drinks in when Hinata starts talking about Brazil. Of course, Kiyoomi knew about the most essential parts, after all Hinata is playing with them for over a year and a half now and some people may say otherwise, but Kiyoomi isn’t as ignorant as it seems. He admits that most of the time he’s dismissive of his teammates’ friendly advances, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like (some of) them. He won’t ever admit it, but he actually thinks that it might be physically impossible to dislike Hinata with his bubbly personality and contagious smile.

This time, the short spiker concentrates his discussion on beach volleyball and how he managed to adapt to the constantly changing conditions on the beaches of Rio de Janeiro. The drinks leave a comfortable warmth in Kiyoomi’s belly and for the first time in a while he allows himself to relax. He enjoys listening to Hinata’s explanations that he accentuates with eager gestures resembling the ball getting caught by the wind.

*

The evening passes without Kiyoomi paying much attention to Atsumu who is occupied by Bokuto at the other end of their table. Though, they were having a lot of fun as measured by the noise and the number of empty glasses piling up in front of them. It’s not that late when they gather at the front of the izakaya to leave, it’s weekdays and they have practice the next morning. They cover themselves with their coats and step out in the cold when Meian calls out behind them.

“Hey, Bo, where’s Atsumu? Wasn’t he with you?”

Bokuto turns around, rubbing his chin. “The last time I’ve seen him, he went out through the side entrance, thought he might've gotten a call or something.”

Their captain groans and glances briefly at Kiyoomi. “I’m going back inside, you guys look for him out here. I don’t want anyone wandering the streets alone these days.”

Annoyed that Atsumu is, as always, causing nothing but trouble, Kiyoomi goes around the building towards the small parking lot that spreads out in the dark behind the bar. He rounds the corner, not willing to make the effort and call out for this idiot. The neon sign behind him hardly lights the area behind the bar, but it’s enough for him to spot the broad back of the setter near the dumpsters. He opens his mouth, ready to shoot an insult at him when Atsumu shifts and Kiyoomi can fully take in the scene that’s unfolding in front of him. Atsumu is pressing a girl to the wall, heavily making out with her. Her hands are in his hair, sliding through the gel slicked strands. Atsumu must have noticed the movement in the shadows because suddenly he turns his head and looks Kiyoomi directly in the eyes.

“Omi-“

But Kiyoomi can’t hear the rest of what he’s saying. He already turned around the corner, walking straight back towards the others waiting in front of the entrance.

Hinata waves at him with a wide smile. “Hey, Omi-san, did you find-“

“He’s busy.”, Kiyoomi snarls, walking past him without slowing down.

He doesn’t look back, but he can feel the confused stares of his teammates piercing the back of his head. Hinata is mumbling something incomprehensible and Bokuto, not capable of talking quietly, explains that he’d seen a girl hitting on Atsumu earlier this evening when they went to the toilet. Kiyoomi increases his pace, he doesn’t want to hear it.

He rushes down the roads, eventually forced to slow down at a red light. What the hell is wrong with him, what is he so mad about? That can’t be, because he saw Atsumu being intimate with someone in front of him, there has to be a rational explanation. It’s rude to leave a birthday party without saying anything and you don’t do stuff like that in public, especially not in such a filthy place, that’s why he’s mad, right?

His heart drops when he realizes that he too left the others without an explanation. He intends to apologize to Meian and Hinata first thing tomorrow morning.

The traffic light switches to green.

*

Kiyoomi sits bolt upright in his bed, his heart pounding in his ears. He looks over to his nightstand, where the bright red digits on his alarm clock tell him that he didn’t even sleep for two hours since he came home from the izakaya. He buries his face in his hands, sensing a faint trace of sweat across his forehead. He didn’t dream about it for weeks, why now? He must’ve been upset enough for his subconsciousness to dig up the unsettling memories of a certain night. It’s not like he’s reliving everything accurately in detail, it’s more about the feeling that the dream conveys that’s turning it into a nightmare. He can feel the hands on his skin, the breath on his neck, the laugh in his ears, the rest is a blur of light and dark. It makes him want to throw up, feeling dirty all over again.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, searching for his slippers with his feet across the cool wooden bedroom floor. He needs to drink a glass of water, calm down and go back to sleep. His evening was lousy enough, no need to lose his shit now over a stupid nightmare. He finds his way to the kitchen without switching the lights on, the incoming light of the city through the windows is enough for him to navigate around his apartment without running into the furniture.

The kitchen door slides open, the quiet scraping sound disturbing the stillness of the night. Kiyoomi halts in the door frame. A small glowing dot floats in midair across the room, right above the counter. He rubs his eyes in disbelief, is he hallucinating? Is he finally losing his sanity? Suddenly, the thing changes its course, stopping at the window frame. He steps closer and flinches when he realizes that he’s looking at a single firefly. A _bug!_ It’s not even the right time for these to be flying around, how did it end up in his kitchen?

He already wants to reach for the bug spray in the drawer to his right, but something about the weak flickering light mesmerizes him. It reminds him of something he saw earlier in his not so pleasant dream. Subconsciously, a picture of Atsumu’s piss yellow hair dimly reflecting the light of a streetlamp emerges before his inner eye. Okay, now he’s definitely losing it. But somehow, he can’t bring himself to kill the small light bug. So instead of the bug spray he reaches for a glass, catching the tiny creature inside. He opens the window and releases it into the cold of the night, watching its glow slowly disappearing in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter than the first one, but I hope you liked it nonetheless!  
> I guess the story is evolving into a slow burn/pining kind of fic and I'm absolutely here for it xD
> 
> If you enjoyed the second chapter, please leave a comment or kudos, your feedback means a lot to me :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the long awaited update!

The pearl grey sky is barely dusted with pink, a strong wind ruffles Kiyoomi‘s hair and sends needles of ice cold air piercing through the thin fabric of his mask. It‘s way too early, way too cold and he hasn‘t slept nearly enough to deal with what lies ahead of him that day.

The Black Jackals are gathered on the parking lot in front of the gym, waiting for their bus to pick them up. It’s one of the days of being a pro volleyball player that Kiyoomi resents the most. They’ll be heading to a promo event where he’ll have to do all kinds of despicable things, like talking to reporters, posing for photos or shaking the hands of possible future sponsors. He tried to skip this obligation more than once, but their manager friendly reminded him that it‘s literally stated in his contract that he has to attend promotional team events.

So here he is, freezing to death at 5am in mid autumn. Kiyoomi separates himself from the group and slowly moves to the side where a few tall bushes frame the parking lot, hoping they might protect him from the sharp breeze. (They don’t). He pulls his shoulders up to his ears and a deep crease is forming between his eyebrows when he feels a throbbing pain shooting through his forehead. Great, now he’s also getting a headache. If possible, his mood worsens. This day is going to be a nightmare.

All of it started with an awful night of sleep or rather the lack of it. Kiyoomi isn’t used to insomnia, his body works like a clock, he deliberately trained it to function on schedule for his whole life, including his sleeping rhythm. If he had to pin it down, he began feeling off after the night at the izakaya on the captain’s birthday where he woke in the middle of the night after returning home. He can’t fall asleep as effortlessly anymore and the migraine he used to get twice a year at best developed into a migraine he is now getting twice a week.

Sadly, he doesn’t have more time to contemplate where his life started going downhill, because in this exact moment a pair of headlights light up the grey area of the parking lot. But what’s pulling up in front of them isn’t their bus. The Jackals‘ team bus is a huge black monster with a clean, modern and roomy interior and even this is barely meeting Kiyoomi’s standards. So when he sees the small dirty vehicle that’s stopping in front of them his eyes almost pop out of his head.

With a few wide strides of his long legs he steps in front of their manager. He’s so outraged, he doesn’t even notice how much he’s leaning forward, towering over the smaller woman.

„What is this?“, he demands to know, pointing at the object of interest.

The middle aged woman looks up to him, rather unimpressed. By now, she’s used to all of the antics of every member of the team.

„This is our bus, Sakusa-san. Well, actually it’s the emergency substitute for our own bus. It broke down yesterday and this was the only one available at the rental.“

Kiyoomi stares at her like she just declared that he is only allowed to shower once a week from now on.

“I’m not getting on that.. _thing!_ ”, he says, disgust dripping from every word.

She lifts one eyebrow, obviously signaling that he definitely will get on that bus and leaves him standing.

He eyes every inch of the vehicle and what he sees on the outside is not very promising for what he’s expecting it to look like on the inside. The white lacquer is flaking and the colors of the rental’s name on the doors are faded. It’s really small, it comes closer to the dimensions of a large van than a proper bus. Which means that he’ll have to share a row with one of his teammates. Kiyoomi thought that he’d grown out of being a dramatic little kid, but right now he feels like throwing a tantrum. The day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

He takes a deep breath and reaches for the bag that is hanging off his shoulder. It’s fine, he tells himself, he’ll put on his headphones so he can pretend that he’s not trapped inside a tiny room with all of his teammates for several hours. And for the undefinable history of the seat covers he’ll just sit on the blanket he always brings for that kind of emergencies. The hand he slipped into his bag freezes. He rips the zipper of the duffle bag open, searching the inside in disbelief. _No_. He forgot them. He forgot to bring his headphones _and_ his blanket. This isn’t like him, forgetting to pack vital things and ending up unprepared in an unforeseeable situation. The deprivation of sleep is turning him into a monster.

Kiyoomi can feel his soul trying to leave his body, but he is interrupted by the manager’s voice.

“Sakusa-san, please, we’re going to be late.”

Not quite giving in to his fate, he walks to the door, dragging his feet. Apparently, everyone except him got on the bus while he had his silent mental breakdown, so when he squeezes into the vehicle all of the seats are already taken. His eyes search for an empty space and when he finally finds it, he wants to turn around and get off the so called bus _immediately_. Sadly, the door is already closed, the engine is running and he can feel the manager’s angry eyebrows twitching higher every passing second.

Kiyoomi shuffles farther to the back, trying not to touch anyone or anything.

“Well, well, what a coincidence that out of all people yer sitting next to _me_ , Omi-kun.” Atsumu has the most offensive smirk plastered on his face, belying every word he just said.

“But Tsum-Tsum, you told me to fuck off when I wanted to sit -“

“Shut up, Bokkun.”

The impatient uproar of the engine makes Kiyoomi sit down, considering everything, he still doesn’t want to die just because he refused to sit down in a moving vehicle. The seat is uncomfortable, he can feel the hard plastic through the worn out covers.

Didn’t he just think about five minutes ago that the day couldn’t get much worse? The universe is clearly making fun of him.

Beside him Atsumu quietly chuckles.

“Omi-Omi ya look like ya swallowed a broomstick. Relax, ‘ts gonna be a long ride. My back hurts just from looking at ya.”

Kiyoomi shoots him a hostile look.

“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?”, and with these words he shuts down every further attempt of Atsumu to make conversation.

He closes his eyes. As much as he hates to admit that Atsumu is right, but the muscles in his back are already tensing up by the effort of not letting his back touch the seat. Still, he stubbornly remains in this uncomfortable position when the bus starts moving towards the exit of the parking lot.

*

It feels like they are driving already for several hours, while, realistically, maybe an hour and a half had passed. Kiyoomi is kneading and bending his hands, trying to release some of the tension that’s building up inside him, making the joints in his fingers pop audibly.

The bus makes an unexpectedly sharp turn to the right and suddenly Kiyoomi feels a warm pressure along the length of his left thigh. Alarmed, his eyes fly open, turning to the side to see if Atsumu is teasing him on purpose. He expected to see a mean smirk directed at him, but he is looking at the back of the setters blonde head. He has turned his head so far towards the window that Kiyoomi can’t tell whether he’s awake or if the force of the turn made his leg slide up against Kiyoomi’s on its own.

His first instinct is to shove Atsumu away and move himself to the outer corner of his seat, as far away from him as possible. But the muscles on the sides of his spine are burning like hell and Kiyoomi doesn’t think that he can bare sitting any more uncomfortable. God, he wishes he had at least his headphones to distract him. He closes his eyes again and tries to focus on his breathing. But as much as he tries to concentrate, the heat against his thigh is pulling his attention towards it like a dry sponge sucking up spilled water.

His pulse is picking up speed, but somehow not in an anxious, unpleasant way. It reminds Kiyoomi of the feeling he gets moments before a match starts or the rush after the whistle blows when it’s his turn to serve. Soon, his heartbeat gets slower, falling into a deep and steady rhythm. His thoughts are getting thick and heavy, the warmth at his side and the gentle rocking of the bus lulling him into much needed sleep.

*

Kiyoomi wakes up shortly before they arrive at the venue. His eyes flutter open and for a moment he doesn’t know where he is. He must’ve been out cold, his limbs are heavy of sleep and his mind takes a minute to catch up. He slowly withdraws the leg that is still resting against Atsumu’s thigh and brings himself in an upright position. He glances to the side, relieved to find, that the setter is still facing away from him.

It’s quiet inside the bus, all of the volleyball players took the opportunity of the ride to get some additional sleep. The driver shifts gears and slows down to pull up to the building where the promotional event is held. As if by command, Bokuto sits up straight, announcing loudly that they have arrived and waking the entire bus in the same breath. Kiyoomi collects his belongings and fidgets in his seat by the anticipation of fresh air.

Atsumu is stirring beside him. “Woah, Omi-kun, ya sat the whole time like that?”

Something in the tone of his voice and the knowing look in his eyes irritate Kiyoomi. The bus finally stops and Kiyoomi hurries to be the first one to exit it.

*

Kiyoomi endures the procedure with as much grace as possible. He keeps himself mostly in the background, letting the more marketable members of the team do the large part of the work. He even manages to steal one of the towels that were supposed to be samples of a new merchandise product line.

It’s late when they head back to the bus, all of them tired and some a little bit tipsy from the generous amount of champagne that’s been poured. Kiyoomi heads without thinking to the seat where he sat outward bound, spreading out the stolen towel and settling down for the ride, much more relieved to sit on a factory-new piece of cotton, while the others also take their old seats behind him.

“Anything to say?”, he asks when Atsumu’s gaping at him becomes unbearable.

“No, nothin’”, he quickly replies and returns to face the black square of the window.

The engine starts and the inside of the bus is painted in darkness and silence. The bus threads into the thin traffic of the usually busy roads. Kiyoomi hears the rustling of clothes and then feels a familiar warm pressure against his thigh. He turns his head in surprise, but it’s too dark for him to make out the setter’s face beside him. Kiyoomi stares at the point in the darkness where his leg is supposedly touching Atsumu’s and frowns. He’s not sure what this is supposed to mean, but he probably won’t figure it out now, he thinks, as a deep yawn creeps up his throat. So instead, he gives in to the strange comfort he’s feeling right now and closes his eyes.

*

Kiyoomi opens the door to the Jackals‘ weight room and a pleasant smell of chlorine and lemon surrounds him as he steps inside. The watch hands are almost pointing at midnight when he starts collecting some of the weights from the rack at the wall next to the large mirrors. He is still suffering from insomnia, so he started working out at night. That way he can at least make use of the time that he’s awake. Also, he tends to fall asleep easier when he burned off all of his remaining energy.

Actually, it is also kind of convenient for him, because he hates using the fitness room at the same time as his teammates. The room is relatively small and relatively fast fogged up with ten sweating guys working out. Also, Bokuto has the awful habit of forgetting his towel and spreading his sweat all over the equipment. But like this, he gets in right after the cleaning staff leaves, so every barbell is clean and shiny.

He grabs two 20kg dumbbells and starts doing bicep curls. Kiyoomi is at his wits end. He tried everything he could think of to get his body back on track, he tried yoga, detox smoothies, he even lend a meditation book from Hinata, but nothing worked, he is still a total mess. To everyone else he might not seem any different, but he can feel his insides shaking, even though his hands are perfectly still. His mind won‘t shut up over trivial things when he‘s laying in bed. He‘s forgetful even though he used to take pride in being always prepared.

Working out helps to some extent. He can focus on the burn in his legs after an excessive set on the leg press and the ache in his arms after doing so many pull-ups until he can‘t hold onto the bar any longer. The pounding of his heart is almost hypnotic and the rush of blood in his ears drowns out the majority of his confusing thoughts.

After more than an hour of countless pushups, pull-ups, crunches, lunges, squats and whatnot, he can barely lift his bottle of water. Kiyoomi‘s legs feel like they are missing some important bones, but that‘s when he knows that he had done enough. He drags himself out of the gym towards the road to call a taxi. Tonight, he doesn‘t have enough energy left to walk back home, but it makes him optimistic that he‘ll be able to get a few good hours of sleep.

*

Kiyoomi‘s head feels dizzy in the need of rest, making him impatiently search his gym bag for the apartment keys.

„Hey, watch where ya goin‘, would ya?“

Kiyoomi almost jumps from the sudden appearance of a voice near his feet. Atsumu is sitting on the cold floor, his back leaning against Kiyoomi‘s apartment door. Fully occupied by the search for his keys, Kiyoomi almost stepped on him, not noticing he was there. The rush of adrenaline from being startled chases away his fatigue at an instant.

„What the fuck are you doing here?!“, he brings out, trying to keep his composure.

Atsumu blinks up to him, a wry smile on his lips. He is clearly drunk. His clothes are dirty and his pants are torn at his knees. Kiyoomi can see blood where his skin is scratched open.

„Let’s say a really handsome dude forgot his keys when going out drinking and now he wants to sleep with ya“, Atsumu giggles.

Kiyoomi can feel his eyelid twitching. „Excuse me?“

„Aaah, come on Omi-Omi, I‘m just kiddin‘, ya prickly sea urchin. But I do need a place to sleep.“

Atsumu prepares himself to stand up, holding onto the door frames to prevent him from falling over. The sight would be amusing if Kiyoomi wasn‘t terrified by what he just said. Atsumu wants to crash on his couch. In his apartment. No, no, no. That‘s not going to happen.

Kiyoomi tries to think of a way where he can get into his apartment without Atsumu following inside, but suddenly remembers something uncomfortable. _Damn it._ He still kind of owes him a favor from the time where Atsumu helped him after being assaulted. He curses that day internally, ever since then he has nothing but bad luck.

He lets out a sustained groan. Letting him sleep in the ice cold hallway unfortunately isn‘t an option anymore, so he pushes the key into the lock and opens the door. He steps to the side, holding it open. Atsumu looks at him in awe, but knows better than to say anything stupid before the door is safely closed behind him.

Kiyoomi turns around, eyeing him from head to toe. „You look like a hot mess.“, he states.

A sly grin appears on his face. „Ya think I‘m hot, Omi-kun?“

Kiyoomi‘s eye twitching intensifies.

Atsumu, despite his intoxicated state, seems to sense the danger. He shrugs and avoids his eyes. „I kinda… fell down on my way home.“

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue excoriating. „Don‘t move.“

He disappears into his bedroom and returns with a stack of clothes shortly after. He throws them into Atsumu‘s arms and points at the bathroom door. Atsumu lowers is head defeated and follows the silent order without talking back any further.

*

Kiyoomi is waiting in the kitchen, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index and lets out a resigned sigh every other minute. The bathroom door opens and naked feet tap towards the kitchen table. Kiyoomi looks up and this time he can barely hold back a chuckle.

Atsumu looks hideous. He gave him his oldest and most hated clothes just to get a good laugh out of it and honestly, it was worth it. The shirt was a birthday gift from Motoya and it has the most offensive color combination, with bright green, yellow, orange and purple. The sweat shorts were a promotional gift from his time in college and they have a wild pink flower pattern all over.

„Omi-kun, this is humiliating. I look like a clown.“, Atsumu says and stretches out the front of the shirt to get a better look at the colorful pattern.

Kiyoomi snorts. „Fits you perfectly then. Be grateful that I give you anything to wear at all.“

He plops down on the empty chair and mumbles something about _not fair_ and _not cute_. He pulls his leg up to his chest to inspect his scratched knee. It stopped bleeding after the shower, but the wound still needs to be cleaned. Kiyoomi stands up and fetches the white first aid box from the bathroom cabinet. He moves his chair around the table and expectantly lifts one eyebrow. Atsumu spreads out his legs to let Kiyoomi treat the scratches.

„ _Ow,_ what the hell?“, he screeches when Kiyoomi rubs an alcohol drenched cotton ball on his knee. Unfazed by the whining, Kiyoomi slaps on a bandage with more force than needed.

„Keep complaining and I‘ll kick you out.“, he threatens while returning his chair to the other side of the table.

„Now just sit there and don‘t touch anything while I prepare your bed.“

Atsumu decidedly looks away from him, lips curled into a pout. He looks like a giant baby that is scolded by its parents. But since he doesn‘t seem to disobey Kiyoomi‘s order, he disappears into the living room to prepare the couch for sleeping.

Even though Kiyoomi never thought that the situation may arise that someone could actually happen to stay overnight at his place, he keeps a second set of pillows and blankets stored in the far back of his wardrobe. He thanks his past self for thinking, against all common sense, it was necessary. He spreads a snow-white sheet over the leathern cushions of the couch and proceeds to pull out every crease and wrinkle. Even if it‘s for Atsumu, he wouldn‘t present a poorly made bedding to anyone.

After he is done, Kiyoomi returns to the kitchen where he finds Atsumu still on his chair, staring into the void with half lidded eyes.

„Hey, don‘t just sleep there. The couch is prepared. So lay down and be quiet.“, Kiyoomi demands.

Like a zombie Atsumu drags himself into the living room with Kiyoomi following shortly after him. He waits until Atsumu slipped under the blanket and settles into the pillows to switch off the lights. Luckily, he already showered and brushed his teeth at the gym after his workout to save time, so Kiyoomi heads straight to his bedroom door. He is reaching for the handle when Atsumu speaks up.

„I know that you can‘t stand me. So thanks for letting me stay.“

His voice is muffled by the blanket, but it sounds uncertain, almost shy. Bare of an adequate response, Kiyoomi stays silent and quietly shuts the door behind him.

*

Kiyoomi strips down to his boxers and flops down onto his bed. He is drained. He needs to sleep so badly. With the utmost effort he covers himself with the blanket and closes his eyes, ready to welcome the fuzzy feeling of drifting away. Sadly, his waiting is futile. The thought of another human being sleeping on the other side of his bedroom door concerns him increasingly.

His breaths become shallow as he tries to listen to any movement of his unwanted guest. _What was that?_ Kiyoomi is certain that he just heard something. Is Atsumu awake? He‘ll better check on him before he starts roaming the apartment unsupervised which would not be a good idea in his state. He sneaks to the door and opens it far enough to look into the moonlit living room.

The sound of creaking leather arises when Atsumu stirs his body against the cushions. Thank god, so it was just him moving in his sleep. Kiyoomi lets out the breath he didn‘t realize he was holding in. He opens the door completely and slowly tiptoes towards the couch.

The pale moonlight from the window shines right upon Atsumu’s sleeping face, illuminating it with a soft glow. He actually looks really innocent like that which is a great contrast to the awake shit talking Atsumu. Kiyoomi notices that his hair, that is falling deep into his forehead in messy strands, is still slightly damp from the shower he took earlier. With his hair not concreted into place with a ton of products and his facial features relaxed like that he looks somehow.. What should he call it? _Gentle?_

Curiosity draws Kiyoomi closer and makes him kneel down beside the couch, eerily mesmerized by the sight of the sleeping figure in front of him. He watches Atsumu’s chest rise and fall with deep breaths and can’t help but to wonder why the universe somehow had decided to attach his life to this obnoxious douchebag that he can’t seem to escape. Because somehow, they once again ended up together in this very apartment, even though he _never_ let’s anyone enter his home, no exceptions!

Kiyoomi intently watches the man’s face in front of him, unconsciously leaning closer in the dim light. He never gets to look at another person that closely. The skin that curves around his cheeks and stretches over his temples is smoother than he expected. Kiyoomi’s eyes glide over Atsumu’s sleeping face. His eyelashes are dark in color and quite long, casting light shadows on his cheeks, accentuating the dark circles that Kiyoomi feels like he is noticing for the first time. The bridge of his nose, that he always sees scrunching up in every match, is now straight and his curved lips underneath are of a pale pink and slightly parted. 

Kiyoomi feels a sudden desire to touch the soft looking skin, pulling at the insides of his chest. With the safety of the darkness around him he lifts his hand without thinking twice. His hand is shaking ever so slightly before he closes the gap between Atsumu’s cheek and the tips of his fingers. He has the impression of being electrocuted at the points where their skins connect with a tingling feeling spreading from the pads of his fingers up to his elbow. Kiyoomi is briefly at the edge of freaking out, but after a moment, the tingling stops and eventually he doesn’t flinch away.

The skin is warm under his touch, much warmer than he had expected. Maybe that’s because Atsumu is flushed from the alcohol or maybe because Kiyoomi’s own hands are relatively cold. He slowly lets his fingertips glide upwards, brushing back the soft strands of bleached hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. He lets the touch linger, reluctant to pull his hand away from the soft curve of Atsumu’s cheek.

Without a warning, Atsumu suddenly starts to move. Kiyoomi yanks his hand away, almost hitting himself in the head and falling over backwards. With more luck than Kiyoomi deserves, Atsumu didn’t wake up, he just stirred again, unconsciously adjusting his sleeping position. Kiyoomi feels the blood rushing to his face, probably dying it a bright red. He’d have to kill himself (or Atsumu) if he was caught doing creepy stuff like that. What has gotten into him?

Kiyoomi hurries back into his bedroom, closing the door as quietly as he can. He slips under the blanket and pulls it up over his ears, knowing all too well that he won’t get a single minute of sleep this night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it took me so long! >w<  
> But I'm really happy that I made it :)
> 
> As always, please let me know in the comments what you think or visit me on twitter ! (@empty_akuma)  
> Kudos are also much appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For updates to new chapters follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/empty_akuma) !
> 
> The timeline in this story got a little wonky after the final chapter launched, but I'm just rolling with it lol

The days have been getting remarkably shorter and during the past week, the last remnants of autumn fully swung into winter. Grey clouds heavy with snow are hanging low in the sky and a strong wind is shaking the bare branches of the trees. Right on time when the first snow falls, the Black Jackals are taking off into winter break before the holidays. Hinata was literally bouncing, because he couldn’t wait to go back to Miyagi to meet up with his old teammates from Karasuno. He said that this is the first time in more than five years that all of them are coming together, when before, every year someone had been overseas, whether it was traveling or working, or both.

*

Kiyoomi has roughly twenty-four hours left before he has to board the Tokaido-Sanyo Shinkansen for the almost three-hour ride from Osaka to Tokyo. His bags are already packed and are waiting in front of the genkan. Kiyoomi’s whole family traditionally meets up for the holidays at Motoya’s house and unfortunately, his parents are insisting that he ' _will be_ _a good son and spend time with his relatives on christmas'_. He eventually agreed, but in exchange they had to release him from the obligation of attending every other family gathering.

It had been snowing through the early hours of the morning, but now the thick layer of clouds has lightened up and even a few weak sun beams are peeking through some gaps. Kiyoomi looks out of his kitchen window to assess the condition of the streets. He is delighted to see that the sidewalks have already been thoroughly cleared of the snow, leaving dark trails that meander through a spotless blanket of fuzzy white.

He opens his cupboard and pulls out a pair of warm running tights and thick jersey shorts, a thermo compression shirt, long sleeve, fleece headband and running gloves. Content with the stack of clothes that had formed a small pile on top of his mattress, he dresses himself and tops everything off with a bright yellow wind breaker. Safety comes first when you’re running in the city and being seen stands of the very top of the list of things you have to pay attention to. Perfectly prepared like this, he plugs his headphones into his phone and opens the door.

Only to almost bump into Atsumu, who is standing right behind his door, one fist raised and ready to knock. Atsumu lets out a startled yelp and stumbles back.

“Omi-Omi, ya scared me,” he laughs nervously. He takes in his bright outfit with a quick up-and-down glance. “Yer going for a run?”

Kiyoomi who’d frozen in place by the surprise, quickly relaxes into the door frame. “What are you doing in front of my door?”, he asks, not bothering to spell out the obvious. Kiyoomi frowns and eyes Atsumu curiously.

He looks like he’s prepared for a long trip, with headphones around his neck and the strap of a large duffle bag stretched across his chest. He’s probably on the way to his parents, but they just live on the other side of the city. But if Kiyoomi thinks about it, it’s really just like Atsumu to exaggerate for such a short travel. Atsumu fidgets with the zipper of his coat and his eyes are flitting around like he’s looking for something behind Kiyoomi’s left shoulder.

“I just wanted – I thought.. Yer not going home for the holidays?”, he stutters.

Now Atsumu has Kiyoomi’s full attention. It’s not like him to act like a shy high school girl. Kiyoomi crosses his arms in front of his chest and frowns. “I'm not sure why I should tell you about my plans, Miya. As you can tell, I’m busy.”

That had seemed to flip a switch in Atsumu’s brain, his expression turning into a cocky smirk.

“What I _can_ tell is that yer fashion sense is absolutely hideous. Ya look like a walking warning sign,” he says, while lightly tucking at the cord of Kiyoomi’s wind breaker.

He swats Atsumu’s hand away. “Well I’m lucky then, that’s exactly what I wanted to achieve,” he deadpans. “I’m leaving tomorrow for Tokyo, apparently there is a Christmas Party at Motoya's I’m forced to attend.”

Atsumu perks his ears by the name. “Motoya?”

“Komori Motoya, the EJP Raijin’s libero,” Kiyoomi explains as he shuts the apartment door behind him. He is getting slightly impatient. He just wants to run his usual 5km lap in Kanaoka Park, why is he being interrogated by Atsumu over his holiday plans in the hallway?

Atsumu snaps his fingers. "Oh, I remember him. The tall one, right? So yer...uhm.. close?"

Kiyoomi stares blankly back at him. He really has no clue why he's having this conversation.

„Yes, of course we’re close, he’s my cousin. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going for a run.“

Kiyoomi notices the subtle widening of Atsumu's eyes, before they settle back into his lazy smirk. “Oh, so that’s how it is!”

It's slowly getting chilly in his running clothes and he doesn’t want to catch a cold, so he starts walking towards the stairs. Before he’s halfway to the stairwell, he hears Atsumu calling out after him.

“See ya at Shoyo-kun’s on New Year’s Eve?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t respond or turns around, but he lifts his hand and waves affirmatively.

*

Family meetups are always a nightmare for Kiyoomi. There are too many people – especially too many children for his taste – and like a broken record, he is asked ever the same questions. And somehow, most of these questions particularly revolve around his love life. Like there aren’t plenty less boring topics to talk about. You would have thought that after all these years, it had dawned upon his aunt, grandma, sister and mother that even if there was something akin to a love life, Kiyoomi wouldn’t talk about it with his family.

*

Kiyoomi can tolerate the presence of his relatives only for so long, so while everyone is still busy eating, drinking and gossiping about everyone that isn’t present at the table, Kiyoomi – feeling a bit nostalgic – retreats into Motoya’s old room. It's pretty much the same as when they were younger, but he knows that most of the drawers and cupboards are empty after Motoya has moved out. He runs his hand over the covers, wiping away invisible dust, before sitting cross-legged on the bed, his thumb scrolling through the pages of the book that he brought for his trip.

He just settled in a comfortable position and searched for the chapter he stopped reading on the Shinkansen, when there is a soft knock on the door. It opens without waiting for an answer and the noise of the festive mood floods into the room. It makes the hairs on Kiyoomi’s forearms stand up. Motoya grants him a big smile and quickly shuts the door behind him. He sits on the floor in front of the bed, still smiling at Kiyoomi.

“What’s with your face?” Kiyoomi grumbles without looking up from the pages.

Motoya laughs and ignores Kiyoomi’s rudeness without batting an eye. “Yeah, I surely missed you too,” he says lightly. “How are you doing in your new home? We never really got to talk after the few times our teams played against each other.”

Kiyoomi keeps his gaze trained on the book in his lap. “It’s fine,” he drawls, “The neighbors are awful though.”

Motoya snickers. “You’re talking about Atsumu-san, am I right? I heard from Suna-san that he lives in the same building as you.”

Kiyoomi refuses to react on the implication and instead, Motoya proceeds to update him on everything that had happened during the time they didn’t see each other, which is _a lot_. His cousin is never bothered to fill the silence all by himself and Kiyoomi never minds listening to whatever he is talking about. That is part of why they get along so well. Kiyoomi hates making conversation just for the sake of not offending the other person with his silence.

Kiyoomi feels a buzzing against his knee and sees the screen of his phone light up. That’s odd, he never gets text messages or _LINEs_. He picks it up and presses the home button. His eyebrows jerk up when he sees the name in the notification. There is no text message, only a series of pictures. He taps on the first one and he can feel a smile tucking at the corners of his mouth.

The mattress wobbles when Motoya flops down beside him, curiously squinting at the phone in Kiyoomi’s hand.

“What’s so funny?”

Kiyoomi tilts the phone so that Motoya can take a proper look at the screen. After staring at it for a moment, while Kiyoomi swipes through the pictures, he breaks into a loud laughter and Kiyoomi can’t help but to let out a small chuckle.

The pictures show a very unhappy Atsumu in a very ugly Christmas sweater and reindeer antlers with a big red bow on his head. The second one is the moment he notices that someone is taking his picture and finally, when he charges for that person with the intention to kill.

Motoya is laying on his back beside Kiyoomi and wipes his face from the tears of laughter that escaped his eyes, when the phone in his hand buzzes again. This time it’s a message.

[Miya Atsumu 21:54]

_»That bastard Osamu sent the pictures, I’m gonna kill him!!«_

[You 21:56]

_»Please send a picture of that as well.«_

Before Kiyoomi can put the phone down it buzzes again.

[Miya Atsumu 21:56]

_»No way, ur actually answering!«_

[You 21:57]

_»Shouldn’t I?«_

[Miya Atsumu 21:58]

_»No no no, that’s not what i meant!«_

_»I’m glad that u did«_

_»Sorry for bothering u tho«_

[You 22:00]

_»As if you were ever sorry for bothering me.«_

Motoya’s voice startles Kiyoomi when he speaks up. He had completely forgotten that he was still there with him. Was he talking to him this whole time?

Motoya’s eyebrow is perked up curiously and he musters Kiyoomi’s face attentively. “I said, I think your brother and sister are leaving with the kids. I’m going downstairs to see them off. You’re coming too?”

Kiyoomi clears his throat and locks his phone with a quick move of his thumb. “No, I’m going to bed first”, he says while untangling his long legs. He looks up and sees Motoya devilishly smiling at him.

“What?”, he asks with a defensive undertone in his voice.

Motoya waves dismissively with one hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just thought that it’s nice to see that you got so close to someone in your team that you’re actually texting with him. I have to admit that I was worried your personalities might clash.” And before Kiyoomi can object, he’s out of the door and down the stairs.

What is that even supposed to mean? They’re not close, are they? Kiyoomi’s brows are tightly knit together when he climbs the stairs to the converted attic. As long as he can remember this was “ _his_ ” room on the days he stayed the night with his uncle and aunt, which was quite often after Motoya had introduced him to volleyball and they befriended each other. That way he didn’t have to stay at home all by himself as much when his parents and siblings were busy with work.

The attic is actually rather a fully build bedroom with an own small separate bathroom that was never used before Kiyoomi started staying over. This was part of the reason he was fine with staying here in the first place, since he was very peculiar in hygienic requirements from young age on. His aunt used to clean and prepare the room before Kiyoomi came over and old habits hardly ever die, proved by the distinct smell of laundry detergent that Kiyoomi is greeted with when he opens the narrow door.

He sits on the edge of the bed to unpack his belongings and puts his neatly folded pajamas on top of the pillow, after grabbing the toiletries from his bag. He takes his time preparing for bed, still a little bit tense after the stress of an evening with the entirety of his relatives. Washing himself is self-care for Kiyoomi, both for his body and mind. Every time he scrubs his face clean with sea sand peeling, stress comes off layer by layer, like the dead skin he is exfoliating. It eases his mind with the soothing fragrances of mint and tea tree oil. Ten hours and forty-two minutes until he sits in the train back to Ohasuhigashi.

Exhausted from the exertion of social interaction, he slips under the starched covers and switches off the light. He rolls onto his side and before he can close his eyes, the small blinking light on the top corner of his smart phone catches his attention. He takes it off the night stand and unlocks it with a swipe of his thumb.

[Miya Atsumu 22:01]

_»Haha, can’t deny that«_

_»What’re u doing, Omi-Omi?«_

Kiyoomi scowls at the screen when he reads his much hated nickname. Nevertheless, he types an answer.

[You 23:12]

_»How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that«_

Almost immediately after he hit _send_ he can see the three dots popping up on the bottom of the chat, indicating that Atsumu is already typing a response.

[Miya Atsumu 23:13]

_»That’s never going to happen, Omi-Omi <3«_

_»I thought you might’ve gone to bed since u didn’t reply«_

[You 23:14]

_»I am now«_

He props himself up against the headboard, his thumb hovers over the screen while wondering what else to write. Reality catches up to Kiyoomi when he is halfway through the sentence and he realizes what he is actually doing right now. This is ridiculous, Kiyoomi softly shakes his head. Playful late night texting with Miya Atsumu? He needs to get a grip on himself. He deletes the half finished message, puts his phone down onto the night stand and rolls onto the opposite side.

_Buzz_

Kiyoomi screws his eyes shut. He won’t look. He doesn’t care what he’s writing.

_Buzz_

He groans and searches for his phone behind his back.

[Miya Atsumu 23:22]

_»Sweet dreams, Omi-kun«_

[Miya Atsumu 23:28]

_»And merry christmas«_

Kiyoomi almost throws his phone across the room.

*

Kiyoomi is standing in front of the apartment door. He could still leave, pretending to be sick or out of town. He looks down at his phone screen that shows the text message containing the invitation to the New Year’s Eve party, Hinata’s address and too many emojis for Kiyoomi’s taste. He can hear the muffled sound of prematurely launched fireworks from outside.

He pulls himself together and knocks softly two times against the cold wood. Only seconds later, the door cracks open and he is greeted by the beaming smile of Hinata.

“Omi-san! I’m so glad that you made it, please come inside, everyone else is already here!”

Kiyoomi follows the short ginger mumbling a _sorry for the intrusion_ and proceeds to unlace his boots. Hinata waits patiently for him to get ready and offers him a pair of slippers, noticing the way he eyes the footwear.

“Don’t worry, they’ve never been worn before. I had to buy a bunch since I didn’t have enough for everyone,” he reassures with a friendly smile. Reluctantly, Kiyoomi takes the slippers and slides them onto his feet, holding out a small gift bag in return. It contains a package of his favorite tea that’s said to be beneficial for the digestion. Hinata peeks inside, thanks him with a polite bow and waves at Kiyoomi to follow him.

 _Everyone_ turns out to be every childless bachelor on the team, which means that only Barnes is missing. Kiyoomi is almost an hour late because of debating whether he should really go until the last minute, so the other guests are already on their second drink. Maybe even third when he’s looking at Inunaki, who snatches another bottle of wine from the table and takes it over to the couch where Tomas is waiting with their glasses. Hinata emerges from the kitchen, where he supposedly went to store away Kiyoomi’s present, and walks over to the stereo system to turn down the music.

He clears his throat to catch his guest’s attention and waits for all of them to look at him. He’s nervously playing with his half-full glass of beer and clears his throat again before speaking.

“Now that everyone is here, I have something to tell you,” he begins.

“Don’t tell us yer pregnant,” comes from the far corner of the room where Atsumu is lounging on a chair. He looks around and waits for the collective laughter for the joke he, without a doubt, thinks is hilarious. To Kiyoomi’s amusement, he is punished with an awkward silence and instead of violating them further with his humor, Atsumu slumps down in his seat with a gloomy look.

“Good one, Atsumu-san, but no. I want to announce that the next season will be the last one I am going to play with you together. I signed a transfer contract with Asas São Paulo. I’m going back to Brazil!” he finally says with a wide grin.

Immediately, everyone is all over him, patting his back and shoulders, congratulating him on this great development of his career. Kiyoomi can see relief in Hinata’s reddened face when he thanks everyone for the good wishes. Only Atsumu is oddly quiet, he didn’t move from his chair, but he pulled the bottle of clear liquor on the table closer to his glass. He’s probably still moping, because no one laughed at his joke, Kiyoomi assumes.

The doorbell chimes over the loud crying of Bokuto, who is currently bawling his eyes out about his favorite disciple making it into the international leagues.

“This is probably the food,” Hinata says while he tries to escape Bokuto’s vice grip. “Everyone, let’s sit down and eat!”

*

The night is advanced and the high-spirited party mellowed out into dim lighted, partly drunk conversations, swaying in the air along with the soft background music. It’s hot inside the apartment and Kiyoomi’s knitted turtleneck becomes uncomfortably tight around his throat. He needs fresh air. He gets his scarf from where he left it over the back of a kitchen chair and heads towards the balcony.

The cold air fills his lungs and bites at the tips of his ears, lifting the stifling heat from the back of his neck. The balcony is small but cozy, perfect to relax on warm summer nights, if it weren’t the middle of winter. Hinata proudly explained that one of is friends – a tiny blonde girl Kiyoomi has seen once or twice after their matches — helped to decorate it. She said that ‘ _it lacks flair’_ with just his laundry rack and running shoes out on it. He wraps the wide fabric of his scarf tighter around his shoulders and steps to the balustrade. The city lies dark and quiet in front of him with the last fireworks already burnt down a while ago. Kiyoomi takes a deep breath through his nose, clouds of white escaping his mouth when he exhales. There is a sniffle coming from his left.

Assuming he was alone out there, Kiyoomi hasn’t noticed Atsumu sitting in the far corner on a small wooden bench.

“Guess ya found me, huh?” Atsumu’s voice sounds strangely nasal and hoarse.

“I wasn’t looking for you if that helps,” Kiyoomi returns flatly.

Atsumu laughs softly, turning his face away from him to wipe at his eyes. Kiyoomi is indecisive, Atsumu is clearly upset about something. What should you do in this kind of situation? Is it better to leave him alone, or should he ask him about it? Kiyoomi is not very keen on dealing with other people’s emotions when he’s most of the time overburdened with his own. He decides that it’s better to avoid to get further involved so he quickly turns back towards the door.

“Could you not leave? Please?”

Kiyoomi freezes in his motion and looks over to Atsumu. His eyes are red rimmed and a deep frown plays around his lips. He lowers his hand that reached for the door handle and crosses the short distance towards the bench Atsumu is sitting on. He inspects its condition briefly, finds it tolerable and sinks down beside him.

For a while they sit like this in silence, Atsumu’s quiet sniffles being the only disruption. Why would Atsumu want him to stay, he’s not the right person to provide a decent amount of comfort. In absence of a better idea, Kiyoomi stays silent, keeping his eyes trained on the distant city lights, hoping this would give Atsumu some space and privacy to compose himself.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Omi-kun. I figure ya don’t like to deal with that kinda stuff.” There’s a slight slurring in his words and his Kansai-ben is thicker than usual. How much of the booze did he actually drink?

Kiyoomi shrugs, he can still mock him later for being a crybaby. “Would it help if you tell me?”, he offers, glancing to the side.

Atsumu slumps forward over his knees, rubbing the back of his neck where his hair is dark and short. His fingers make a bristling sound when he combs them through his freshly buzzed undercut. “Promise you won’t laugh at me,” he says.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

“Asshole,” Atsumu retorts, but there is no edge in his voice. He lets out a heavy sigh and Kiyoomi waits.

“It’s 'cause Shoyo is leaving,” he finally says.

There’s an unfamiliar stinging in Kiyoomi’s chest. He raises an eyebrow – the one below the two moles on his forehead – giving him a skeptic look. “I wasn’t aware you liked him that much.”

Atsumu yanks his head up with a distressed look on his face. “Not like _that_ , ya idiot!”, he groans. “’S ‘cause setting for Shoyo after so many years and making him shine on court… Ya know, it’s just too much fun and now it’ll all be over. And I just think that sucks!”, he says with a hilariously petulant pout.

Amusement bubbles up in Kiyoomi’s throat and before he can stop himself, it spills out in the form of an open mouthed laughter. His deep voice rumbles through the quietness of the night. It’s an odd sound to his own ears, out of place, since he’s not used to hearing it that often.

He clutches at his sides, forcing himself to calm down, but the look on Atsumu’s face has him almost laughing again. He is demonstrating a textbook example of utter shock, with wide eyes and dropped jaw, mouth shaped into a large round O.

Kiyoomi wipes at his own eyes where they have become wet with laughter. “You’re really crying because things don’t go your way?”, he asks with a small giggle.

Atsumu looks like all the air is knocked out of him, his hand hovering over his neck that he had furiously rubbed before. An intense blush is manifesting on his cheeks when he shuts his mouth. Kiyoomi’s eyes follow the movement of his adam’s apple when Atsumu audibly gulps.

Kiyoomi can almost see Atsumu’s brain restarting. It’s accompanied by a rapid change of emotions, going from surprise over confusion to finally settle on indignation. “I can’t believe that the only time I see ya genuinely laughing is ‘cause I’m upset!”

Kiyoomi grins at him, biting at the insides of his cheeks to prevent another laugh from escaping his chest. “I’m really sorry,” he says. “Is there anything else besides your petty petulance?”

Atsumu defiantly crosses his arms in front of his chest, but his pout turns into something more crestfallen. “’S just that I really like how our team is right now and I don’t want it to change. Being left behind by my teammates is kinda a sore spot for me,” he says lowly.

“Oh,” Kiyoomi says wittily. “I think I get that part.” He lifts a hand to stop Atsumu, who already opened his mouth, to say anything. “Believe it or not, but I do,” he sighs. “It’s not like I wasn’t satisfied with my former teams in high school and college, but this one – the Jackals – they’re definitely extraordinary, by any means.” He runs his fingers through his dark curls, trying to find the right words for what he wants to express. “Literally no one respects my boundaries, you guys are always loud and obnoxious and way too competitive even with the most ridiculous things. It’s irritating and you guys require more patience than I can muster. But despite – no – _because_ you’re like that, I feel like I can play volleyball the way that I want to without holding back. So I get that you don’t want it to change.”

Kiyoomi almost slaps a hand over his mouth, surprised by his own sincerity. Atsumu must have sensed it too, because his astonished face slowly curls into a teasing smirk.

“Aw, Omi-Omi, you actually do love us, dont’cha,” Atsumu purrs, nudging his elbow against Kiyoomi’s knee. It could be imagination, but the press of Atsumu’s arm feels a few seconds too long.

“Tell that to anyone and you’d wish your twin had absorbed you in the womb,” Kiyoomi hisses, irritated by his sudden confession and the burning heat he can feel on his cheeks.

Atsumu bursts into a hoarse laughter before his expression becomes softer. “Y’know, I always hoped that ya don’t really hate us, but actually hearing ya say it feels unreal.”

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi mutters. “At least I’m not crying like a baby. You dumbass realize that you’ll still play with Hinata? Maybe not with the Jackals, but you still get to set for him with the national team,” he adds, attempting to distract Atsumu from his own embarrassment.

Atsumu swallows the bait, but with the focus back on Hinata’s transfer and the alcohol amplifying his depressiveness, his expression darkens again. Kiyoomi watches his profile while large tears are swelling up in his eyes and dropping down on his jeans, leaving dark spots where they are disappearing into the fabric. The heat of embarrassment fades from Kiyoomi’s cheeks and leaves a small knot of guilt tightening deep inside his guts.

Maybe he wronged Atsumu all this time. His arrogance and ignorance, the carelessness and conceitedness, everything Atsumu is on the outside has always been the only thing that Kiyoomi perceived of him, unbothered to look past the surface. To be honest, Atsumu _is_ all of these things, but Kiyoomi realizes in this quiet moment on Hinata’s balcony, tears hitting denim being the only sound, that there is a lot more to Atsumu than he wanted to admit. With every moment they had shared with each other over the past months, he unconsciously dug his fingers into the slick shell of aloofness, creating a crack and getting a glimpse of what’s hidden inside.

Kiyoomi studies Atsumu’s face and can’t help but to wonder what it would be like to peel back those protective layers, laying open the bare flesh of imperfection and vulnerability. And if he’s sincere to himself, he’s both intrigued and scared of what he might find if he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I keep making Atsumu drunk :D  
> It was very weird to write about winter and christmas while cooking in my own juices inside my apartment... it's just too hot! >w<'
> 
> Again, thank you very much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments ❤️✨


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is here! I'm sorry that it took me so long, juggling uni, work and mental health was especially hard these past two months -.-' 
> 
> All the more, I'm happy that I finally finished this fic! And this chapter is more than 6k!
> 
> Of course I made another illustration (it's Sakusa in the shower 🤫😏)  
> You can find it [here!](https://instagram.com/empty_akuma)

During the remaining days of the winter break, Kiyoomi tries his best to forget the feeling he got after the conversation with Atsumu on the night of New Year’s. He fails miserably.

He catches himself more often than not thinking about it. Especially during tasks that don’t occupy his attention as much, he allows his mind to trail off. For example, when he’s deep cleaning the wooden floor of his apartment or when he neatly folds his clothes into 90° square stacks. It’s not the conversation itself that he’s thinking of the most, it’s rather the moments of silence between the spoken words that have been burned inside his memory.

The warmth of Atsumu’s body that he could feel despite the cold of the air and the centimeters between them. How pretty the tiny teardrops looked that were caught in his long lashes. The smoothness of his skin in the dim light, which – many weeks ago – Kiyoomi had once dared to secretly touch. One time, he catches himself wondering if it’s still as soft as he remembers.

Usually, these thoughts are lurching somewhere in the back of his consciousness, but, sometimes, they find their way to the front of Kiyoomi’s head. And when they do, he cleans the floor a second time, but this time he also scrubs the cracks between the individual wood panels, because he missed the dust clinging to them. He folds the clothes all over again, because somehow one stack ended up wider than the other one and slightly crooked. He forces himself to concentrate and not think about his teammate in a way he is not supposed to, a way he does not want to.

*

His insomnia got much better compared to a few months ago, but there are still some nights where he’s barely able to fall asleep. Practicing with sleep deprivation is especially annoying, because his muscles tense up more quickly than normally. They’re in the middle of doing short distance sprints when a nasty cramp in his right calf forces Kiyoomi to sit down at the sidelines. He doesn’t like to let pain show on his face, but his brows furrow unwillingly at the ache. He pulls on his toes to stretch out the spasming muscle, but it only worsens the cramp.

Someone steps beside him. “Let me help ya with that.”

Kiyoomi looks up and blinks against the bright gym lights, but of course he already recognized Atsumu’s voice. “No, thank you,” he says, but grits his teeth when his calf cramps again.

The setter scoffs and sinks down on one knee in front of Kiyoomi. In a sudden moment of panic, Kiyoomi tries to shuffle back, away from Atsumu, already guessing what he’s up to. Kiyoomi is stopped by the disobedience of his own legs and ends up flailing ridiculously with his long limbs. Atsumu hesitates for a moment, then clicks his tongue and pulls Kiyoomi’s leg up with a firm grip, resting his foot on the center of Atsumu’s broad thigh.

“Don’t be so proud, idiot,” he mumbles through barely parted lips. Kiyoomi wants to protest or at least pull his leg away, but when Atsumu’s hands wander up his ankle to the middle of his lower leg, he stops resisting. He can just sit there like a deer caught in headlights and watch strong hands dragging their fingers in circles over the tense muscles in Kiyoomi’s calf. A hiss leaves his lips when Atsumu digs his thumbs into the part where the muscle had tied itself into a tight knot. He is thankful that Atsumu is concentrating on what massaging, because Kiyoomi is certain that the conflict inside his head is apparent on his face right now.

His inner germaphobic, that wants to flee from the touch, is currently in an intense battle with a newly blossomed sensation that Kiyoomi can’t recall he ever felt before. The feelings are contrasting each other so much, screaming _stop_ and _don’t stop_ at the same time at top volume, that it’s making his head dizzy. Just when he thinks the compulsive monstrosity, that usually dictates his choices, is losing, Atsumu withdraws his hands and sets Kiyoomi’s foot back on the floor. “I think ya should be fine now. Maybe still go see the athletic trainer, though,” he says.

Kiyoomi opens his mouth without really knowing what to respond, but it turns out that his answer is not required, since Atsumu is already standing back up, jogging over to the team at the other side of the court. All Kiyoomi can do now is get up on wobbly legs and leave the practice gym towards their athletic trainer’s office. When he is alone in the hallway outside, Kiyoomi sinks down in a crouch, balancing on the balls of his feet, head squished between his forearms and with a heart that is beating frantically against his ribcage. _Fuck, what the hell was that?_

*

Kiyoomi is alone on his side of the net, receiving serve after serve with sublime precision and sending each ball in a perfect arch to the imagined setter’s position. When an especially sharp spike serve flies his way, he lunges forward to dive into the receive. He doesn’t want to allow a single ball to touch the ground without his permission. At the very moment the round leather bounces off his forearms, the muscles in his right leg twist. Kiyoomi catches himself with both of his hands before his chest can touch the floor. He reaches around to the back of his leg, clutching at the spasming muscles. _Not again!_

He didn’t hear him coming, but there are suddenly warm and calloused hands that are stroking over the curve of his calf. Kiyoomi gasps out of surprise and it turns into a yelp when the hand doesn’t stop at the hollow of his knee. Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the inside of Kiyoomi’s thigh, riding higher and higher until they brush at the hem of his shorts.

A hot breath tickles the hairs in Kiyoomi’s neck. _“Relax, I can make ya feel real good,”_ a familiar silky voice whispers into his ear, fingers sliding under fabric, causing his whole body to quiver–

Kiyoomi opens his eyes. He is not in the gym, he’s lying in his bed, sheets disheveled and his comforter lying in a pile on the floor. His sleeping shirt is drenched with sweat and his heart is racing, both usually symptoms of a particularly bad nightmare, but that doesn’t fit at all with the feeling inside his chest. He slips off the mattress on shaky legs, turning his lips in disgust when the fabric of his shirt sticks to his back. He peels it off and throws it carelessly in the general direction of the hamper.

The sound of water calms Kiyoomi down a little bit when he turns on the shower. He is impatient enough not to wait until the water gets hot and instead steps under the still chilly spray. Kiyoomi rests his head against the pristine tiles, trying to wrap his head around the scene that had played inside his head just a few minutes ago.

Even though it had been only a dream, he can feel the ghosts of the broad, calloused hands on the thin skin at the inside of his thigh. He shivers, but not out of discomfort, which confuses him even further. He traces the spot with his own slender fingers and stops abruptly when he perceives another unexpected reaction of his body. Kiyoomi blinks the water out of his eyes and looks down on his half hard cock that is resting heavy between his legs. What the hell is happening to him? Panic causes his pulse to quicken and he takes slow, measured breaths, trying to force down his half-cooked erection. 

Sexual desire isn’t a concept Kiyoomi had never heard of – he’s a germaphobe, not stupid – but it was never anything he’d associate with himself. During middle school, when every boy in his class was hit with the figurative hormone bus of puberty, sex had been the omnipresent topic wherever he went. Whether it’d been obscene comments over their english teacher’s breasts or discussions over which girl in the latest porn magazine was the hottest, Kiyoomi couldn’t care less. A few times, his classmates had tried to make him engage in their disgusting conversations, but they soon stopped when he answered with nothing but sovereign contempt. Instead, they started calling him names or homophobic slurs, but since Kiyoomi was used to being picked on since elementary school, he just ignored it and the bullying petered out due to his refusal of reacting to the insults.

Ignoring the social aspects of sexuality was fairly easy, denying his natural bodily reactions as soon as Kiyoomi himself got into puberty was rather difficult. He still clearly remembers the horror of waking up with a sticky mess inside his boxers and he decided that this just wasn’t for him – sex and stuff.

That might be the reason why he is now in an increasingly irritating staring contest with his lower half. Usually, he just has to wait a few moments for his private parts to calm down, but today seems to be different. Kiyoomi also has a horrid suspicion _what_ that difference might be. Before, there’d never been a direct trigger for his body to react this way. Kiyoomi has to confirm his hunch or he’ll never be at peace for the night.

He closes his eyes again and concentrates on what he’d felt in his dream. For some reason, it’s more vivid than other dreams and without making the conscious decision, he mixes other memories into it. He thinks about the burning gaze of hazel eyes on the other side of the net before hitting the most annoying hybrid-serve. Beads of sweat trailing down defined neck muscles, only to disappear into the neck of a tight black jersey, right below a pair of pronounced collar bones. He remembers the vibrating sound of a smooth voice next to his ear and a strong thigh pressed against his own on a bus ride back home.

The next time Kiyoomi blinks down through the spray of hot water, nothing about his hard-on is half-baked anymore. He rubs both hands over his face in disbelief and utters a single curse against the bathroom tiles. _Fuck._ He’s physically attracted to Miya Atsumu.

Kiyoomi steps out of the shower and decides that it’s not a big deal. As long as it’s a purely physical reaction, he can handle it. He perfected conditioning his body over the past ten years, so getting used to a few hormones, that had gone wild, shouldn’t be a problem. It’s not like he has feelings for him or something like that. It won’t be long until he’s back to his usual self.

*

Actually, it’s not that long until Kiyoomi has to admit to himself that it might not be as easy as he thought it’d be. Everyone at practice is still a little lethargic given the early hour, so they’re starting slow with simple spike drills. The setters are standing in front of the net on either side, waiting for tosses to set for their hitters. Kiyoomi is the last one in line and he can’t help but to observe every muscle movement of the blonde setter. It’s not like Kiyoomi never looked at Atsumu, but it feels like it’s the first time he’s actually _seeing_ how he plays.

Even in this rather casual practice setting, every one of Atsumu’s tosses is executed with a consummated grace and determination, not one unnecessary move disturbing the flow of his sets. The way all ten fingers touch the ball on every toss without exception, keeps Kiyoomi’s gaze transfixed, until his eyes meet half-lidded ones that stare expectantly at him.

“Whatcha daydreaming about, Omi-Omi?”, Atsumu coos and juts out his hip with a shit eating smirk. “Can’t keep yer eyes off my flawless body?”

Kiyoomi feels caught out. He forces down the blush that is rising up his neck and he hasn’t worked out enough yet to blame his quickening heartbeat on exertion. Kiyoomi cocks his head, face level despite his racing pulse. “I just wondered if you gained weight over the holidays,” he says and throws the ball high in the air towards the net while running up for his spike, shutting down Atsumu’s protests. Kiyoomi jumps in the air, smashes the ball along the line with a delicious straight spike and lands safely on both feet. Atsumu steps closer to him and Kiyoomi flinches when he hears his low honey-sweet voice a little too close to his ear.

“I could show ya more of this if ya like it that much”, he whispers and flutters his eyelashes lascivious in Kiyoomi’s direction. He’d seen Atsumu’s disgraceful attempts at mocking flirting – either with him or the other members of the team – more times than he can count and it always caused nothing but secondhand embarrassment, but this time it’s different. His eyes drop to Atsumu’s mouth and, for a split second, he catches his pink tongue wetting his lips.

Kiyoomi’s heart stops for a moment and then starts hammering against his ribcage. This alone would be enough to throw Kiyoomi off for the rest of the day, but at the same time his heart starts drumming against his ribs like a jackhammer, he can feel heat pooling inside his lower abdomen, spreading into parts he doesn’t want to think about in a crowded gym. This is bad.

Atsumu, who is undoubtedly waiting for a snarky comeback, curiously looks into his eyes when the insult doesn’t come. Kiyoomi doesn’t know if he is capable to keep a straight face at the moment, so he quickly averts his eyes and ducks under the net to continue the drill with their second setter on the opposite side of the court. 

*

Kiyoomi hates this feeling and it gets worse over time. It’s like he had developed a really concerning obsession and his eyes naturally gravitate towards Atsumu more intensely with every passing day. Like it’s not enough already that he can’t stop thinking about Atsumu when he’s not in his direct proximity. His heart flutters every time he hears his voice and when their gazes lock across the court, his fingertips start to tingle and that heat slowly coils deep inside his belly. It feels like a medical condition and it sickens Kiyoomi that he seems to progressively lose control over his bodily reactions instead of regaining it.

But what else could he do about it other than just holding out until he’s gotten used to it? So Kiyoomi grits his teeth and forces himself not to let his eyes slide over the sculpted muscles of Atsumu’s ass every time he squats down in front of him.

*

The locker room is filled with the usual buzzing of several conversations that are drifting back and forth through the room. Kiyoomi doesn’t engage in any of them, but he still likes this calming white noise while he changes.

The atmosphere is abruptly destroyed when Bokuto barges in through the door, barely on time, like always. Kiyoomi pulls a face behind his mask and commits himself to neatly lacing up his volleyball shoes.

“Tsum-Tsum, dude, is it true?”, the outside hitter yells, pulling everyones attention immediately towards him.

Atsumu closes his locker and turns to face his teammate. “Bokkun, I know ya think I can read minds like a psychic or somethin’, but I need a little more input here.”

Bokuto waves his phone in front of the setter’s face like this is enough of an explanation. “I mean what they’re writing on the net,” Atsumu swats his hand away. “That you’re going to have an underwear photoshoot with Mami-san!”

A murmur goes through the locker room and everyone’s eyes are on Atsumu now, whose face pulls into the most disgusting sly smirk that Kiyoomi always has the urge to punch. Asai Mami, currently Japan’s most popular actress, model and idol. Kiyoomi only knows about her, because she’s literally everywhere on the media and Motoya made him watch one of her biggest movies. It was awful, in his humble opinion.

Inunaki snatches Bokuto’s phone out of his hand, where the article he’d been referring to is still on the screen. “The brand’s next print campaign will feature Japan’s brightest movie star, Asai Mami, and the V.League’s hottest setter,” he reads out loud. “They’re not even saying his name, why would you think they mean Atsumu?”, he hands Bokuto his phone back. “Don’t you think Kageyama would be the more obvious choice if we go by popularity?”

The Jackals collectively burst into laughter and Atsumu grits his teeth. Kiyoomi can hide his snort successfully under a cough. Unexpectedly, Hinata comes to the setter’s rescue. “Oh, please,” he says while stifling a giggle, “all of you have seen his Curry advertisement. You really think they’d make Kageyama sell underwear?”

Like an organism with only a single brain cell, the team agrees to his reasoning. It also seemed like the redhead’s words had appeased Atsumu’s scratched ego. “So?”, Bokuto asks again. “Tell us!”

The smirk returns to his face and he casually runs a hand through his perfectly slicked hair while throwing an arm around Bokuto’s massive shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I can just as well admit it,” he coos and the rest of the team is hollering. He almost falls over when Bokuto slaps him between the shoulder blades and the pained look on Atsumu’s face is a small compensation for the sudden irritation Kiyoomi is feeling by the thought of Atsumu posing next to an half naked celebrity. 

Kiyoomi grabs his water bottle and exits the locker room towards the gym, leaving behind the cluster of horny athletes that gathered around Atsumu for details. The morning was perfectly fine until Bokuto arrived with these news to ruin his day. Kiyoomi stops briefly in his steps when he gets a hunch where his frustration might originate in and his mood drops to the bottom. During practice, he smashes the ball harder and harder onto the other side of the court, until the other players are cautiously taking two steps away from him before they accidentally get hurt.

*

Kiyoomi slips into his sneakers, happy that the temperatures finally allowed to exchange his thick winter boots with the lighter trainers. Practice was strange today with Atsumu being absent. Today is the first of two days where he has this photo shooting, so he’d been exempted for the whole Friday practice. Kiyoomi tried his best not to think about it, but it was impossible to ignore when the others were talking about the shoot non-stop, up to the point where he wanted to throw something at them.

He shoulders his bag, ready to leave for his well-deserved weekend, when Bokuto holds him back. He blocks Kiyoomi’s way to the door and lifts a hand to grab his shoulder, which Kiyoomi skillfully dodges. “’Yoomi-kun, do you have any plans for your birthday this year?”, he asks in a volume that makes Kiyoomi flinch. “It’s this Sunday, right? We could come over to your–“

Kiyoomi senses where this is leading and quickly interrupts him. “No!”, he blurts out. He clears his throat. “Ah, no, thank you. I don’t celebrate my birthday, please don’t come over or do anything else to surprise me,” he adds in a less alarmed tone.

Bokuto’s figurative puppy ears are drooping when he hears this, but he quickly replaces the sad face with an assuring grin. “Alright! Still, have a nice birthday, you don’t turn 26 every day!”

*

Since Kiyoomi naturally despises loud places and crowds, it is a no-brainer that he doesn’t like birthday parties. As he grew older, he accustomed to being a guest on one, but only because he can leave whenever he likes, which is difficult when it’s your own party. So he stopped celebrating after the disaster on his tenth birthday, where one of the kids his mom invited got sick and puked all over the table. 

The chime of his smartphone rings through the quiet living room, indicating that he received a text message. Kiyoomi looks up from the pages of his book – a thriller about some psychopathic killer who murders people with bleach – and reaches over to the coffee table for his phone. He is surprised when he sees the time on the screen. It’s already after midnight, he turned 26 exactly seven minutes ago.

The message is – of course – from Motoya, he takes pride in always being the first one to wish Kiyoomi a happy birthday. Not that there are a lot of people he has to compete with, but Kiyoomi appreciates his effort every year. He types a quick response to his cousin and already wants to toss the phone back into the couch cushions, when he sees that there are a lot of new messages in their team’s group chat. Bokuto had begged for two weeks until Kiyoomi agreed to join, only under the condition that he never has to respond to anything and that he can mute it the second he joins.

The message preview piques his interest, so he opens the chat to further investigate it. Most of the messages are from this afternoon, supposedly in response of a photo that Atsumu had sent. Kiyoomi downloads the image and after the blurry pixels sharpen, identifies it as a selfie he took at the photo shoot today. Kiyoomi cringes, why has that idiot always his tongue out whenever a camera is in sight? His cringe turns into a scowl when he recognizes that there is another person clinging to his bare chest. Asai Mami has one cheek pressed against Atsumu’s shoulder and beams with her usual idol bleach-white smile. They seem perfectly comfortable with each other, measured by the way Atsumu had slung his arm around her waist. Good for him, he thinks sourly.

Suddenly Kiyoomi regrets clicking on the chat. He turns off his phone and throws it back on the table, with a lot more force than necessary. He picks up his book again, but he has lost concentration, so he also slams it down on the table and stands up with an annoyed grunt. He walks into the kitchen without knowing what to do there. He settles for brewing a cup of tee to keep himself occupied, going to bed right now is not an option anyways.

Kiyoomi almost pours the boiling hot tea over his chest when a loud knocking blasts through his dead silent apartment. He sets down the mug and cautiously peeks around the corner. Who on earth would knock on his door in the middle of the night? Just when he thinks that the troublemaker had left on his own, he knocks again, even louder than the first time.

Kiyoomi might have been uncertain at first, but the second time makes him angry. He walks towards the door, determined to chase away the bastard that dares to disturb him at this ungodly time. He fumbles with the door chain for a moment, but eventually rips the door open.

“What the hell – “ he starts with his most intimidating tone, but he is caught off guard by the face that is staring back at him. “ – are you doing here,” he finishes.

Atsumu is leaning casually against the door frame, his face only centimeters away from Kiyoomi’s. Before he can shut the door in his face, Atsumu quickly puts a foot in the crack of the door. “Let’s go inside first, we don’t want to wake up the neighbors,” Atsumu says while squeezing through the small gap.

Too dumbfounded to stop him, Kiyoomi lets him inside and shuts the door after. “Knocking like a brainless gorilla wasn’t very quiet already,” he responds flatly.

Atsumu turns around to face him. “Yeah, but yer phone is turned off, so I couldn’t call to ask you to open the damn door.” He tilts his head and looks at Kiyoomi like asking why he has to explain something so obvious.

Atsumu looks like he just left the photo shoot. His hair is styled even more perfectly than usual and they did something to his face that his skin is glowing, even in the dim light that floods into the hallway from the kitchen. Kiyoomi gets more confused with every passing minute and it doesn’t help that Atsumu is looking distractingly good in his tight black turtleneck and camel trench coat.

Kiyoomi lightly shakes his head to help him focus, tousling the curly mess on his head even more. “Yeah, no, but what are you _doing_ here, Miya?”, he asks, pointing at him standing in his genkan.

He frowns and turns his left hand to take a look at the watch on his wrist. “It’s yer birthday, isn’t it? March 20th, right?”, he asks, doubt making him sound less confident.

Kiyoomi suppresses the urge to roll his eyes and repeat his question for the third time, when the situation catches up to him. Wait a minute. Atsumu had the time of his life with the nation’s top celebrity for the whole day, there is without a doubt a big party after the shoot going on right now, but instead of getting drunk and hooking up, he left to knock on Kiyoomi’s door, just because _it’s his birthday?_ No way, something is fishy about that.

Atsumu is making fun of him. It’s one of his stupid jokes nobody else finds funny. After he ridicules Kiyoomi for being a loner, he’ll go back to the party to have good laugh with his new friends. Anger makes his blood rush faster through Kiyoomi’s veins and he balls his fists at his sides.

“What’s it to you?”, he snaps, glaring down on Atsumu despite their height difference only being a few centimeters.

Atsumu blinks perplexed at Kiyoomi by his harsh tone. “Huh?”, he asks. That clearly wasn’t the kind of reaction he had anticipated.

Kiyoomi steps closer to Atsumu, ire making him less cautious with the personal distance. “I don’t know why you’re here,” he lowers his voice to a menacing rumble, “but if it’s just to mock me, I suggest you better get the fuck out of here.”

The question mark on Atsumu’s face turns into irritation, while he listens to Kiyoomi’s words. “What the fuck?”, he shouts and jabs his elbow into Kiyoomi’s sternum. He stumbles a step back, surprised by this loud outburst and rubs the spot where their bones had met painfully.

“Don’t you have a photo shoot to celebrate?”, Kiyoomi growls. It’s rare that he looses his cool like this, but he feels betrayed and he chooses his words to cut. “You had your fun, you can go fuck that model now, she looked like she wanted it.”

Nothing about Atsumu’s expression is mocking or smug. “I dunno why yer bringing this up now, but I haven’t fucked anyone in a long time, if that’s whatcha really wanna know!”, Atsumu spits with a scornful tone, getting more agitated with every word. “Do ya think that badly of all people, or is it just me?” He is straight out yelling right now. “Well, I got news for ya, asshole, I just wanted to do something _nice_ for ya today! And guess what, I’m not letting ya ruin it, jus ‘cause yer some distrustful piece of shit!” He kicks off his boots, sending them flying in every direction and stomps off towards the kitchen.

Kiyoomi stares stunned at the point of the hallway where the setter had disappeared. His anger had steamed off as quickly as it came and he is just left with confusion about Atsumu’s reasons. He can hear the light clinking of ceramic, so he quickly pushes Atsumu’s boots into a neat position at the genkan with the tip of his slipper-covered foot and hurries to the kitchen, afraid that he might begin smashing his dishes.

When he enters, there are already two small plates on the table and Atsumu is ripping open one drawer after another, supposedly in search of cutlery. Kiyoomi quickly opens the right drawer, ending Atsumu’s furious quest for forks.

“What the fuck is this supposed to mean?”, Kiyoomi asks harshly, blocking Atsumu’s way to force him to look at him.

Atsumu grunts and points at the table with a fork in his hand. On top of it is a small cardboard box that Kiyoomi didn’t notice before. “I bought ya cake and yer gonna eat it with me. _Now._ ” He emphasizes the last word with a pointed jab of his fork. “I just dunno where ya keep yer tea mugs. It’s still fucking cold at night and I’m freezing.”

Kiyoomi is as stubborn as one gets, but he’s smart enough to know when he has to stop resisting. And, looking at Atsumu right now, it’s definitely less troublesome to let him have his way this one time. Kiyoomi takes another mug out of the cabinet and fills it with the fragrant tea from the teapot. His own cup is still warm, it would be a waste to throw it away, so he takes both mugs to the table.

In the meantime, Atsumu managed to open the box and sets the two pieces of cake on the plates. Kiyoomi can tell that he’s still mad, but he calmed down enough that he’s not shouting anymore. “I wasn’t sure if ya like sweet stuff, but ya never take sugar when we stop to get coffee on game days. I don’t like sweets very much, but this cake’s really good, so I thought it’ll be fine either way.” He slides one of the plates over to Kiyoomi, who curiously inspects the treat in front of him.

From the look of it, it seems like some sort of matcha cheese cake, but not the weird american ones, that contain nothing but an disgusting amount of cream cheese and sugar. Kiyoomi glances over to Atsumu, who is grimly waiting for his reaction. He can’t help but to be flattered by how much thought Atsumu had given into the choice of the cake. He also wasn’t aware that he seems to pay close attention to Kiyoomi’s coffee orders.

Kiyoomi fears to be force-fed by Atsumu if he doesn’t start eating soon, so he pokes his fork into the very tip of the cake slice, cutting off a tiny bit of the light green mass. Surprisingly, Atsumu was right, the cake is really good. It’s not too sweet and the bitterness of the green tea harmonizes perfectly with the creamy curd. “It’s good.”, Kiyoomi admits sheepishly.

Atsumu snorts. “Good,” he says grumpily and shovels a huge bite of cake into his mouth. Suddenly, Kiyoomi feels ashamed of his own behavior. It’s not like him to just jump to conclusions and getting excessively worked up over the things he comes up with. Is that what people call jealousy? Usually, Kiyoomi is too proud to apologize, especially to a prick like Atsumu, but he sees that he really wronged him this time.

He’s not used to someone going out of their way to make him happy. Everyone silently accepts the restrictions he puts up, you have to be a real blockhead to still want to surprise him. Atsumu pokes at his half-eaten cake and Kiyoomi fiddles with his mug. He exhales slowly. “Hey,” he says to get the setter’s attention.

Atsumu looks up from his maltreated dessert and Kiyoomi’s heart clenches. He looks really upset now and even though Kiyoomi feels guilty about it, it’s also kind of cute. By now, he doesn’t even question himself for having this thought. He’s far beyond making himself believe that it’s just a temporary hormonal attraction he’s dealing with.

In this very moment, Kiyoomi has to admit to himself that he might like this annoying brat. A lot. And if he doesn’t read this whole situation awfully wrong, Atsumu likes him too. The sheer absurdity of having that realization right now, makes Kiyoomi almost laugh. He looks up to meet Atsumu’s eyes, who is scowling back at him when he sees the grin that pulls on the corners of Kiyoomi’s mouth. He internally calls himself to order and clears his throat before speaking up.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says with a level expression. “It wasn’t fair to assume you’re making fun of me.” He pauses. “I just didn’t expect that you’d do something like this.”

Atsumu is suddenly very interested in the crumbs on his plate, but lowering his gaze hardly hides the bright blush that creeps over his face all the way up to the top of his ears. “It’s not like I’d do this for anyone,” he mutters into the palm of his hand. Warmth spreads in Kiyoomi’s chest and he can’t decide yet if he likes or hates this tingling feeling.

Kiyoomi can’t think of anything to respond to this, instead, he proceeds to eat the slice of cake in front of him. Atsumu is following suit and so they’re eating in silence, until the last bits of the dessert are eaten up.

Out of habit, Kiyoomi starts washing the dishes as soon as they’re finished. He can’t stand dirty dishes in the sink. He is surprised that Atsumu doesn’t hesitate to grab a towel to dry the plates Kiyoomi is handing him. He is putting the last dried cup on the counter top when Kiyoomi turns towards him, leaning against the edge with his hip.

“That was an unexpectedly nice birthday surprise,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

Atsumu is trying his best to look smug, but his expression is unsteady underneath the surface. “I never knew you were the sappy type, Omi-Omi,” he laughs. He reaches out and runs his hand over Kiyoomi’s clothed forearm. “You’re welcome.”

Atsumu’s fingertips briefly brush over the inside of Kiyoomi’s palm, before he quickly pulls back. “Shit, sorry,” he says with an alarmed tone, “I forgot ya don’t like being touched.”

Kiyoomi looks pensively down at his hand. He didn’t dislike it, he didn’t even flinch by the sudden approach. Is he already feeling that comfortable around Atsumu that he let his guard down that much?

“I want to see something,” he mumbles and moves towards Atsumu, crowding him against the counter. Atsumu leans back as far as he can, obviously taken aback by Kiyoomi’s abnormal behavior.

“Hey, uhm, Omi-kun,” he stutters, “Don’t you think you’re a bit too close? What about the germs ‘n stuff?”

Kiyoomi ignores his blabbing and runs his hand over Atsumu’s arm, exactly the way he did before. He doesn’t stop when his fingertips touch the bare skin on his hand, pleased to feel the electric tingling again that shoots up his arm. Instead of withdrawing, he slides his palm flush against Atsumu’s, interlocking his slender fingers with the setter’s.

Atsumu gasps and his eyes are bulging with shock. Together with the still apparent blush on his face, it makes a pretty hilarious sight. “What –“

Kiyoomi glares at him. “Could you shut up for a moment?” Atsumu snaps his mouth shut. “And don’t move.”

He locks his eyes with Atsumu’s, which are growing even wider when Kiyoomi leans closer. He can feel Atsumu’s breath on his face and he hesitates for a moment to check his inner voice. His curiosity and desire are still a lot louder than the thin voice of unease that was forced into the farthest corner of his mind.

Their noses are brushing lightly at the tip when Kiyoomi leans in and lays his lips gently on Atsumu’s. It’s a light, brief touch, only lasting a mere second. Every normal person would say it doesn’t even count as a real kiss, but it’s enough to light a fire in Kiyoomi’s entire body and it’s burning bright on his face when he takes a few steps back.

Atsumu clutches at the edge of the counter with one hand, knuckles turning white by the force of his grip. With the other hand, he touches his lips, mouth agape with a mixture of shock and awe. Kiyoomi sinks down on the chair next to him, he’s afraid that his legs won’t carry him any longer, but he also doesn’t want to show Atsumu his shaking knees. Incredible what a small gesture can do to his own body.

Atsumu’s face looks like it couldn’t decide whether to be flushed or white as a sheet, so it settled for a splotchy mess, but his expression shows that he mostly processed what Kiyoomi had done. And, surprisingly, it seems like he’s irritated about it.

“You asshole,” he gasps out. “You’re accusing _me_ of making fun of ya, but now _you_ are the one that’s messing with me?” He lowers the hand from his mouth and balls it into a fist. “I have feelings too, ya know?” Atsumu avoids Kiyoomi’s eyes. “Doing things like this when you’re not even meaning it…”

Kiyoomi exhales slowly. He needs to have this conversation now, doesn’t he? But he didn’t even plan ahead when he decided to kiss Atsumu. He doesn’t know what he wants, or what to do. He guesses that it’s best to do what he always does: Telling the truth.

“I did mean it,” Kiyoomi says calmly.

“Huh?” There’s this dumb expression again. “You kissed me,” Atsumu states.

“Yes.”

“And you meant it.”

“Yes.”

Atsumu makes an acknowledging sound in the back of his throat. “Nah, I don’t get it,” he says after thinking about it for about ten seconds. “What did ya mean with it?”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. If he ever has the chance to time travel, he has to punch his past self for falling in love with this airhead. He flinches internally by how easily he thinks the word _love_. It must’ve been much worse than he presumed.

“I mean,” Kiyoomi explains, “that it seems like I have developed feelings for you that are of a romantic nature.”

Atsumu gawks at him. “Can ya use words I understand?”

Kiyoomi groans and rakes his hands through his already messy hair. He’ll have to punch his past self twice. “I like you, Miya!”

That was a lot more embarrassing to say out loud than he imagined. Kiyoomi averts his eyes to avoid seeing Atsumu’s reaction. He hears a quiet thump and turns his head to see that Atsumu had sunken down against his kitchen cabinets. He’s hiding his face in his hands and mumbles something incomprehensible. Kiyoomi was quite confident that he won’t be rejected, but now he’s getting nervous. Is he having a breakdown? Should he do something?

Kiyoomi gingerly stands up and squats down in front of Atsumu. “Are you alright?”, he asks carefully.

“I’m processing,” Atsumu says, voice muffled by his hands. “It’s quite the shock when someone you like actually likes ya back for once.”

Kiyoomi smiles, relieved that he didn’t interpret the signs wrong. “This is fairly new to me as well,” he admits.

Atsumu moves his hands so that he can peek at Kiyoomi through his fingers. “So what now?” he asks.

“We’re gonna date or something?”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I can’t promise you anything, but I want to try it,” he says firmly.

“Holy shit,” Atsumu says stunned. “Sakusa Kiyoomi is my boyfriend.” He bursts into laughter, clutching at his sides and sliding further down until he almost lies completely on Kiyoomi’s pristine kitchen tiles.

Kiyoomi grins back at Atsumu. He’s buzzing with so many different feelings, he’s light-headed and happy, but also anxious about what’s to come. But Kiyoomi was never the type to back down when faced with a new challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for staying with me until the end!  
> Special thanks to everyone who wrote me some encouraging messages, you really kept me going ;A; ❤️
> 
> There are so many things I hate about this fic (wtf is with the title, it doesn't make sense at all), but I'll take it as experience :D It's the first fiction that I wrote and I can see how much I learned thanks to it. Don't worry, there are also quite a few things I like about it 😋
> 
> This may be my first sakuatsu fic, but it definitely won't be my last! I hope I'll see you at my other works💕
> 
> Bye~  
> Nika
> 
> PS: Fun fact: I subconsciously made Sakusa a demisexual, but only realized it after writing more than half of the chapter lol (talking about self-projection, huh). His body noticed that he was in love with Atsumu before his brain did, amazing isn't it? :D


End file.
